In Sorrow With Pride
by Author-Of-Sin
Summary: It's been three years since he left her, without any of the explanations he promised to give, without so much as a goodbye. Now, she's faced with an unexpected specter from her past, who claims she's held the key to getting those answers all along. Will she find what she seeks, or will she choose a new path? Will sorrow or pride be her solace? Now she has the time to find out.
1. Chapter 1

His arrival was a bit like a scene out of one of Varric's books.

It was winter in Skyhold, and with winter came frequent blizzards that would bury the fort under feet of snow for weeks at a time. While Dorian was always happy to clear the major pathways, using a bit of fire with the flick of his wrist, there was nothing to be done when the blizzards were still raging. It was right in the middle of one such storm, at dinner time, that he arrived.

A great gust of freezing wind clawed its way through the hall as the main doors slammed open, two flustered guards with a tall figure standing between them, entering swiftly. The figure between them raised his hand, sending the large doors shut behind them with a loud protesting groan and a clang. The guards looked at each other, baffled, then shrugged and shook their heads. They led the way up to the head of the long table on the right, where the Inquisitor sat, watching the commotion with surprise. As the small group reached their destination, one of the soldiers spoke.

"Inquisitor, this man claims to know you; though he wouldn't give us a name. We thought you'd prefer to see him yourself before we tossed him in the cells. He assaulted the gate guards because they didn't let him in immediately."

"So you invited him to dinner without a moment's consideration that none of us are armed," Dorian piped up, "and that this person might be an assassin; especially considering he assaulted the guard? Are you completely mad?"

The soldier froze, his lips forming a perfect 'O', before he closed his mouth and swallowed.

"Ser Pavus, I'm sorry. I hadn't considered-"

"Of course you hadn't. I doubt you've ever considered anything in your life." Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed, turning to the Inquisitor with a look that asked, 'what now?'

The Inquisitor steepled her fingers in front of her, her sea-colored eyes steely as she regarded the figure between her guards. She knew who he was, but he was the last person she'd ever expected to see storming into her keep; especially amidst of one of the heaviest blizzards they'd had to endure that winter. It had been, what- three years since she'd last seen him? Why did he only just then arrive? More importantly, _why_ had he arrived at all? She took a breath and waved her hands at the guards in dismissal.

"You may go. I do know him."

The guards bowed and left as she looked at the figure, eyes calculating as she finally addressed him.

"Abelas. It has been some time. Though, to you, it probably seemed but a blink. Why have you come here, after three years?"

"_That's_ Abelas?" Dorian gaped, "I thought he dropped off the face of Thedas? At the temple of Mythal, no less. Which, last I checked, is nowhere near Skyhold."

Abelas gave the slightest nod in Dorian's direction, "You are correct, shem. But my business here is none of your concern. What I have to say is for the Inquisitor alone."

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair.

"What news do you bring then, Abelas? It must be rather urgent, for you to come here in the middle of a blizzard."

He nodded, "It is. I would speak with you, alone. It... concerns Mythal."

Her brow creased in suspicion. The voices of the well had not whispered anything odd in months. Why would a servant of Mythal suddenly wish to speak with her, if not for those voices- if not for her connection to Mythal? The voices provided no answers, though they urged her to trust him. Her trust was not so easily given. Not anymore. She would hear him, but she would watch him too. She sighed and lit a fire rune beneath her plate of nearly untouched food as she stood.

"Very well, come with me."

His small bow of assent as she passed him surprised her, but she kept the surprise from reaching her face. She assumed he was merely showing her respect in front of the others, though he had not bothered before...

Something to be wary of.

She led the way to her quarters; the one place in the keep where conversations would not be overheard. Well, by anyone but Compassion. He still haunted the halls sometimes, but spent most of his time in the Fade now. She'd stopped calling him by his human name long ago. It didn't fit him anymore. She reached the top of the stairs and waved her hand towards the fireplace, sending more life into the flames to warm the room, and gesturing for him to have a seat in one motion. He declined the offer. Of course.

She rolled her eyes and walked to a side table, where a decanter of ice wine sat on a tray, beside a collection of glasses. She chilled the bottle and two of the glasses with a small frost spell, then poured one glass for herself. She looked to Abelas and pointed toward a second glass, offering. He shook his head. She shrugged and walked back to the fireplace with her glass, seating herself in one of the chairs comfortably. He could stand for all she cared; she wasn't about to stand awkwardly around, in her own chambers, no less.

"So, what's this about?" she waved her hand for him to proceed.

He launched into questions immediately, as if she'd opened the floodgates with that simple gesture.

"After your defeat of the enemy we allied with you against at Mythal's temple, did you notice anything out of place with your connection to Mythal? Did the voices mention anything?"

His questions gave her pause. She had indeed noticed something odd and the voices had overwhelmed her when it happened. When she'd come to, days later, she found herself being hovered over by a healer and Dorian asleep in a chair on the other side of her bed. When questioned, the voices had no definitive answer for their sudden outcry, almost as if they were blocked from telling her. It had been something that plagued her thoughts ever since, and she grasped at the possibility that she could finally learn more, sinking her fangs into it immediately.

"Yes, something happened a few weeks after. It knocked me out for days. The voices never had an answer for what happened, but I've always wondered. The connection to Mythal never wavered, as far as I'm aware, but it..." she couldn't quite explain it properly. The flavor of her connection had been altered when she woke. It was something strained, darker; not sinister, just... sad. Regretful.

Abelas saved her from her floundering and voiced the feelings she couldn't find the words for, "It was altered."

She nodded, "Yes. It feels different now; only sorrow and regret, where before there was purpose and comfort. But it's not just the feeling; it's the flavor, the smell, the aura of it... I can't properly explain it."

He held a hand up to silence her, "There is no need. All of the sentinels have the same connection as you do, and we have all felt it."

She raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?" She snorted, resentment tinting her voice as she continued, "Well, I'm sure you all weathered it much more easily than my shem body did."

The slightest wrinkling of his brow was the only change in his expression as he regarded her, his eyes sparking with curiosity at her words.

"Do you truly believe I would be here at all, if you were still considered a shemlen to us?"

She couldn't keep the surprise off her face this time, "What? That's all you would call me the last time we met. I assumed you still thought of me as such."

"No," he shook his head, "The moment you drank from the well, that changed. I see your vallaslin has been removed to reflect that alteration. Rather appropriate."

Her brow furrowed in a frown, "My vallaslin was removed for another purpose, by another hand. It had nothing to do with the well."

Understanding graced his features for a moment, before they smoothed into their usual almost-frown.

"Ah. So he freed you. Interesting. You were a slave to Mythal before, were you not?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger with a tiny healing spell, to ease the familiar throb of a headache beginning. When the ache subsided, she answered.

"That is what it would have meant to you, yes. That is not what it meant to my clan. Not that they cared for my explanation, once they saw my bare face. Either way, yes, I suppose I was freed. Though it certainly doesn't feel like it."

He quirked his head slightly to the side, "You do not consider yourself freed from slavery?"

She huffed a laugh, though there was no humor in it, "No. I am still bound to Mythal through the well. Even were that not the case, my bare face prevents me from ever being accepted back into my clan, or into any Dalish clan. They all see me as a flat-ear, or in my clan's case, harellan."

"You'd be accepted more easily than I would; if you could keep from calling them all shems, anyway," she retorted as she took a sip of her wine and looked into the fire, face rife with irony.

There was silence for a time, and she used it to quietly finish off her wine. She stood and moved to the table to refill her glass, as she waited for him to speak. He had yet to state an actual purpose for his visit, or whether he was willing to share what happened to their connection to Mythal, all those years ago. His fascination with her inability to feel free was puzzling. Why would he care? She may not be a shem to him anymore - only Mythal knew why that was, maybe she would ask him that when next he deigned to speak - but his presence and motives were confusing. She resolved to speak up if he didn't, when she went back to her seat.

She finished pouring her glass, and turned to see that he'd taken a seat in the chair beside hers; finally accepting the offer she'd initially made. She shook her head. Stubborn elf. He spoke when she'd settled back down in her chair.

"I can understand why you would feel as you do. To be called harellan for ignorance not of your own making is a terrible thing to endure. I imagine he felt the same."

She paused, her glass halfway lifted, and looked at him, "He? Is this the same 'he' you referred to as taking my vallaslin?"

He nodded, "Fen'harel, yes."

Thankfully, she had already set her glass on the table between them, or she would've dropped it as her entire world came to a grinding halt. Not that it would've made her look any _more_ of a fool than she later imagined she appeared at that moment.

"_What?!_"

He paused, seeming unsure of himself for the first time since she'd known him. Though, her mind was more focused on his lack of explaining why he thought that Solas was the _Dread Wolf_, of all people. She'd had a hunch that Solas was older than he claimed, perhaps even an ancient like Abelas, but he couldn't be one of the Creators. It simply wasn't possible. The voices of the well were eerily silent as she reeled from Abelas' claim.

Abelas finally spoke, his voice hesitant, "The one who took your vallaslin, he was the elvhen that accompanied you to the Vir'abelasan, yes?"

She slowly nodded, unable to speak, lest the moment shatter and she wake to find it was all a dream. The irony of that possibility being the case would fit her brand of luck perfectly. She hugged her ribs tightly and sank deeper into the chair, feeling as if the entire world were pressing in on her. His voice slid in beneath that weight and protected her from it.

"That was Fen'harel. I understand he disappeared directly after your enemy's defeat. That is actually why it took so long for one of us to venture here: we have been hunting him ever since."

She snapped to attention, her eyes locking with his; gripping on the arm of her chair tightly making it creak in complaint.

"Hunting him? Why? Did you find him?"

A look of disdain clouded his face, but quickly gave way to resigned disappointment as he answered, "No. I am here because we have failed countless times in our search. He is always two steps ahead of us. As for why we seek him; we believe that the reason our connection to Mythal is so altered, is because it changed hosts."

She frowned, "Changed hosts? You mean she left Flemeth?"

"Yes. We believe she gave her power over to Fen'harel. It explains a great many things, not the least of which is the reason I have come here."

"Which is?" she asked, though she wasn't sure if she actually wanted to know.

She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the elf she'd loved and lost, the love she'd scoured the Fade for night after night; her vhenan... was Fen'harel. The Dread Wolf. He who hunts alone. Bringer of nightmares. How appropriate. She'd been living a nightmare ever since he left her, broken and utterly alone, in the grotto at Crestwood.

He sighed, "Ever since Mythal joined with the Dread Wolf, we have all felt a strong pull to here. I volunteered to finally investigate, since we have exhausted all other options in our hunt. When I arrived, I found the source of that pull: you."

She couldn't have kept the shock out of her voice if she'd tried.

"_Me?!_ Why me? Because I drank from the well?"

"No," he shook his head, "though we are all connected to each other through it, that was not the reason. Mythal has no more of a special attachment to you than she does to any of her servants. It is the Dread Wolf's connection to you that drew us here."

Her heart was already pounding, but now it seemed to double its pace, making her voice tremble as she tried to understand, "What sort of connection could I still have to him? He abandoned me before we even fought Corypheus, and finally abandoned us all as soon as that damn orb broke."

Abelas tensed when she mentioned the orb, "What did this orb look like?"

She gave him a confused look, "It's... over there, if you're really that curious," she pointed over her shoulder to the bookshelf that housed the fractured pieces. "I brought every piece of it that I could find back here, after he left."

He stood and walked quickly in the direction she'd gestured, spotting it halfway across the room and moving to it post haste. He hurriedly pieced it back together and brought it over to her, holding it in one hand, reaching toward her with the other.

"Your mark," he demanded, waving his hand insistently toward himself when she stared at him, dumbfounded, "give me your hand."

"Why?"

He growled a frustrated sigh, "Just do it, please. The foci can be restored if you aid me."

She gaped at him, perplexed, "What? He said it couldn't be saved. He seemed pretty certain of it, in fact."

"You can mend tears in the veil, can you not?" at her nod, he continued, "It is the same concept; the same magic, even. Your mark came from this foci. He could not restore it, because he was diminished, after his long slumber. We were not. We never slept for as long as he did, thus we are not drained as he was. Now help me restore the foci."

Apprehension lined her face as she slowly placed her marked hand in his outstretched one. What good would restoring it do at this point? His tone was instructional and calm, as he placed her palm against the orb and held her hand there.

"You will need to pour your mana into the mark, to give it more power than it normally uses. Activate it just as you would to close a tear. Use your magic to focus it on the breaks. I will be assisting with my own mana, but you must concentrate your will."

She nodded and the anchor sparked to life, a familiar ache rolling up her arm and over her body, as the mark she hadn't used in over a year sputtered and flared over the orb.

"Focus. Mend the tear."

She reached out with her magic to feel the shape of the orb, tasting the familiar flavor of it after the many months she'd studied and prodded it with her magic before then. She concentrated on the breaks, finding the crevices and channeling her mark's energy into them. The moment she found that focus, she felt immense power flowing into the mark. She looked up to see Abelas' eyes glowing blue against black, a dark smoke of some ancient form of magic rolling off of him and into the mark. The sight nearly mesmerized her, but she snapped her gaze back to the orb, to redouble her efforts. Whatever magic he was using, she would not waste it on her curiosity. That could come later.

She closed her eyes in concentration, feeling the edges of the tear and reaching out to mend it the way she once mended the rifts. Her ears pricked as she heard what sounded like ice crystals forming from her magic, but quickly realized it was the orb beginning to repair, under the influence of their combined efforts. Bit by bit, the cracks sealed and the pieces fused back together. Finally, with one final burst of raw energy and a sharp, crystalline sound, the orb was once again whole.

Abelas released her hand and the orb, his eyes following the orb as it righted itself and hovered above her palm, bathed in the light of her anchor. She felt almost the same pull to the foci that she'd felt when she'd snatched it from Corypheus, and sent a pulse of energy through her mark, meant to unlock instead of seal shut.

The effect was stunning. A brilliant green glow suffused the room with overflowing magic from the foci. She wondered just how well she could control such a powerful object, given her ties to it. She looked over to see Abelas bathed in the power, just as she was; a look of profound peace on his face that she had never observed, nor expected to see. It was at that moment when she first realized he was... strangely beautiful.

It was something she'd hardly had time or interest to consider the last time they'd met, and she wasn't entirely sure why she noticed it now. But notice it, she did. She filed it away for later pondering; there were far larger concerns at the moment. She slowly eased back the power of the mark, letting the orb drift down into her palm to land with a tiny smack. The sound seemed to startle Abelas from his peaceful trance. His eyes flicked open, once again back to their normal bright, gleaming gold. They met hers and suddenly, he appeared to remember his surroundings with a slight frown.

"So," she said with the smallest of smirks, "Abelas can be Atisha, from time to time."

He scowled at her, his gaze sinking to the orb in her palm, "If you felt no peace at being bathed in a god's magic, then that is your great loss."

"I didn't say that. But, I do have eyes," she gave him a slightly more obvious smirk, which might've been the closest she'd come to a genuine smile in a long time.

"Now," she sighed, "I have some questions, and I believe you have the answers."

He nodded, "Ma nuvenin."

She gave a small bow of thanks for his acquiescence before continuing, "Ma serannas. First, why did you want to restore the foci that marked me?"

"Because we can use it to find Fen'harel and Mythal."

"Huh," she paused, absorbing his answer.

"Alright. Second, what magic were you channeling into my mark? I've only seen the like in the Fade, and it was never adequately explained."

He looked slightly confused and offered what explanation he could, "It was... just mana. No particular spell or special kind of magic."

She raised an eyebrow in skepticism. _She'd_ certainly never had her eyes turn black and glow blue, nor had she ever exuded smoke. Except for that one time she caught herself on fire with her own spell, but that was... a very long time ago. The tips of her ears blushed in her private embarrassment.

"I call halla shit," she snorted, "I've channeled mana more times than I can remember, and it's never once looked like that."

He cocked his head slightly, studying her. He narrowed his eyes and she felt his magic lapping out at her and the smoke thinly seep from his eyes, though they stayed their normal gold color.

"You have not taken advantage of the power you gained from the well. If you do so, it will look the same as when I channel mana. It is simply an excess of potential magic which gives it that appearance. I can show you how to unlock it later. I assume you have more questions for now?" His magic receded, the thin smoke dissipating.

She bit back the urge to ask him how to unlock it right then, and nodded, "Yes. You never answered my question about my connection to the Dread Wolf."

He paused then, his gaze scrutinizing her before he answered, "You have a connection to him for two reasons, though they are similar in nature. You have both left marks on each other that can never be removed."

Her brow raised in surprise, "How so?"

He sighed, pointing to her mark, "His foci marked you with his magic, and you marked his heart as yours. Both pull him to you strongly, though he does his best to ignore them."

"_His_ foci? This is... his?" she sputtered.

The implications alone were staggering. _His_ foci used to create the breach, _his_ foci used to forever change her fate. _His_ foci that she thought was the only thing he cared about in the end, _his_ foci that she broke and caused her lose him forever. _His_ foci that had been sitting, broken and dormant in her room, every night for three years; while she dreamed of a wolf with too many eyes. She could barely hear Abelas' response as her blood roared in her ears.

"Yes, it is. Does this surprise you? I suppose if he never told you his identity, he would not have revealed his ownership of the foci, either. He always was a fool when it came to the things he loves."

Her mind ticked over the facts one by one in her head, but there were crucial elements missing. One of them in particular was burning a hole in her skull.

"How did Corypheus get the orb from him?"

"That, I do not know. It is possible it was stolen; or that Fen'harel gave it to the beast to unlock, since he likely could not himself, and the beast betrayed him. As beasts are wont to do. If the latter was indeed the case, it was a rather large gamble on the Dread Wolf's part, but certainly not the largest he's taken. That it ended in disaster for him, is no surprise. His gambles rarely pay off. The fact that he helped defeat the beast, and attempted to assist in cleaning up the mess his magic made, does lend credence to the second option."

Though she couldn't help but agree, she shook her head at the horrendous ridiculousness of it all. She set the foci on the table, wanting nothing to do with it now. His gamble had cost thousands of lives, and very well could have cost the entire world, had she not been there to accidentally take a part of his magic. She ended up fixing most of his mess, while he walked quietly by her side and called her vhenan. No wonder he called her that: she was doing his work for him all along.

"So the entire reason he claimed to love me was because I had the mark and I fixed the mess he made," she laughed bitterly, "Figures."

He sighed, "As loathe as I am to say it, you should not be so quick to disbelieve his love for you. If all he had wanted from you was to use you as a tool, he would not still be marked by you. He would have long forgotten you and moved on, if that were the case."

She mulled over that for a time, chewing on the inside of her cheek and staring into the flames licking upwards in the fireplace. How much could she possibly mean to him? The fact that she was even thinking of it disturbed her more than a little. How much could she mean to a god? She was mortal. Marked, maybe. A head full of ancient voices long dead, yes. A connection to Mythal - and apparently him - that never waned, true enough. But still mortal.

Her gaze slid to Abelas, releasing her cheek from her teeth to ask, "Why don't you consider me a shem anymore? Is it just because I drank from the well?"

He took a breath, as if bracing himself to reply, "Yes and no. While you partaking of the well is the root cause, it is not the actual reason. You are now as elvhen as the rest of us are. The only reason you do not have our power and immortality, is because you have not learned how to unlock it. Because you did not think to ask the voices how to do so."

She stared at him, stunned. Unbidden, the voices whispered the secrets that she had never thought to ask of them, as if Abelas had asked them himself. Her brow creased and her eyes closed as she listened, for the first time able to distinguish the voices from one another, to hear them as clearly as if they were sitting next to her. The more she listened, the more she heard and understood. It became clear how long she had been floundering about, with the ability to do so much more: to _be_ so much more. Her eyes flew open and a gasp escaped her lips, the voices finished imparting their wisdom, and suddenly grew silent.

At once, a peace fell over her, as if the knowledge the voices had given her was the most beautiful, perfect, _right_ thing that had ever been gifted to her. More right than the mark on her hand, more right than the love of a god. It felt natural, as though it should always have been that way.

So she used it.

Her lungs sucked greedy breaths from the air around them as her heart drummed a staccato beat against her ribs. Her mind and body raced to catch up with the influx of a heady blend of life and raw power, which began to course through her. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair so tightly, she thought they might break. Every muscle in her body felt both completely ruined and rejuvenated all at once. Her spine went rigid and unyielding as her staff, as it bowed off the back of her chair. She felt power - unlike anything she could've imagined - push up from somewhere deep inside her, cascading through her in a rush of adrenaline, born of pure magic. The overflow was too much to contain. She was coming apart at the seams.

Suddenly, intense calm radiated from somewhere to the right of her existence. She latched onto it, sinking her teeth and claws in, holding on with every ounce of her newfound strength. It soothed the raging glut of power inside her, tempering it and letting it simmer gently underneath her flesh. Her relief was profound.

She sank into her seat, her muscles finally relaxing. Her grip relaxed from the arms of her chair, and she heaved a sigh that settled her further into the comfort of it. Her heart began to slow from its racing beat, her breathing calmer as she inhaled deeply through her nose. That action started a chain of reactions that happened in rapid succession.

She could smell... _everything_. She slowly sat up with interest, sniffing the air before her eyes even opened. She heard her breathing, the roar of the flames in front of her, the minute sound of amusement from her right. She opened her eyes to a brightness that nearly blinded her for a moment, but adjusted far more quickly than she was used to. She looked around and noticed she could pierce into the darkness of the shadows in her room, seeing all of the details she'd missed before. Then, she turned to find the source of the occasional tiny, huffing laughter to her right, and nearly jumped out of her seat.

What her eyes saw with more clarity than she'd ever thought to exist, was the most sorrowfully beautiful thing she'd ever witnessed. His aura fell from him in waves of light that sang to her of sadness long harbored, of precious beauty and love lost, and of happiness held like sand slipping through his fingertips. There was no tinge of regret, but as she focused, there was much longing in those shimmering golden eyes; wistfulness and wishing for a song nearly forgotten. A song that could make spirits weep with joy.

She felt something touch her cheek, and reached to wipe it away, only to discover that spirits were not the only ones that could weep at such things. He had watched the tear roll down her cheek, observed as she wiped it away. She blushed, realizing she was staring at him, probably to the point of rudeness. She looked away quickly, locking her eyes to the fireplace once more.

"I'm... sorry, Abelas. I didn't mean to stare. I was... never mind," she trailed off.

She was having trouble concentrating. Even the sound of her own voice was different, as if somehow she was conveying all the emotions she felt with every word. It didn't seem possible. Certainly, a smile or sadness could be heard by anyone, but subtle nuances were lost in illusions of privacy or deception. She could hear her own embarrassment and discomfort, her sorrow at possibly having offended him with her rudeness, the sincerity of her apology and the deception in cutting herself off for inadequacy. While she felt all of those emotions, _hearing_ them was an entirely different matter. She wondered if every elvhen had that ability. If Abelas did. What had she revealed to him in all this time, if he could actually hear every bit of it? She knew her ears and cheeks were red with shame, how could they not be?

She heard another of the small huffs of laughter escape him before he answered her.

"You did not offend me, lethallan. Though I am glad to know that your senses are now as sharp as mine, if your flushed panic is any indication. I have often wondered how shems can exist in such complete ignorance of the mere emotions and knowledge of others around them, without weeping in the agony of loss. Having witnessed your reaction to the transition, however, I believe I understand it a little better. Ma serannas, for allowing me to see it."

Every word he spoke was laced with genuine gratitude, curiosity, sincerity and a bare whisper of wonder. She chanced a quick glance at him, wanting to see if his aura reflected those emotions. One cannot force one's aura to lie. Keeper Deshanna had told her that once. She had been gifted with the rare ability to actually see the auras of others. While all mages could feel auras, actually seeing them was incredibly rare. She'd never understood what a treasure it was to be able to see like that, until then.

Her swift appraisal of his aura gave her enough to know he had not lied. That he had, in fact, most likely never lied to her. It was a reassuring balm that she needed more than her next breath. To know that he was someone who would always be honest with her, was something she would treasure. It was rare enough to find that in this world; even more so to find it in someone she barely knew. Though, she realized, she knew him more than any shem could now. That thought provoked the first genuine smile she'd had in years. She turned to him, letting him see it, unashamed.

"No, thank you, lethallin."

He gave a small, curious noise she likely would've missed before, "For what?"

She smiled again, "For being honest with me. For being you. For all your sorrow, there beats the heart of a truly good and genuine person beneath that armored chest. And... also for calming me during the transition. I was about to lose complete control, but you calmed it before it could do any harm."

The corner of his mouth twitched infinitesimally, momentary happiness and tempered pride singing from his aura.

"Such high praise, lethallan. Ma serannas. Though I do not recall purposely rendering aid during your transition, so I cannot take credit for it."

She canted her head in confusion, "If it wasn't you, then what was it that helped? There's no way I could've controlled it on my own, it had to be something."

His gaze slid from her, to the foci resting quietly on the table, next to her forgotten wine glass and nodded to it.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking back and forth from him to the foci, before voicing her thoughts, "Why... or how... both?"

Another small laugh issued from Abelas as he explained simply, "Because you are his vhenan. As for how, you bear his magic, so you are as tied to the foci as he is. It is possible the foci reacted to you on its own, or that he worked through it to provide what you needed. You would have to ask him to know for certain."

"No," she shook her head, "I don't think he can work through it from a distance. If he could, he would've done so when it was in Corypheus' possession, to reclaim it."

"He likely did not have the power to do so at the time. As I said, he was diminished. Now, with Mythal's added strength, he could have enough power to work through it. It is quite likely that he will come to us, seeking it, given time."

"He will come here?"

He nodded.

She looked to the fire, worrying her lip with her teeth. She was unsure how to feel about that. Once, she would've rejoiced, thrown a feast even; if she'd known ahead of time. Now? Now, she knew who he was. Now, she had some inkling of what had transpired, to toss her into the role of the Inquisitor and the shem Herald. Now, she knew how much he'd fucking lied to her face. Could she really risk leaving her heart in his hands once more? What if he crushed it all over again? Perhaps he really did love her; but while it was somewhat of a balm to know that truth, it was one single island of truth in an ocean of lies, for which she had no boat.


	2. Chapter 2

Translations:

_I use a mix of FenxShiral's elvish, the wiki, and my own fumblings to create any elvish I use in my stories. So, before anyone screams about inaccuracy, yes, the elvish I use is occasionally fucked up and made up and just generally gibberish. But I do try, at least, which is more than can be said for some. :)_

Fenlamea: "Voice of the wolf guardian." I actually struggled with finding a name for this Quizzie, since I'd never actually played this one in-game. I finally asked FenxShiral himself, because I couldn't come up with a decent name that meant what I wanted, and he graciously provided a list for me, out of which I chose this one. Thank you again, FenxShiral.

da'isenatha: little dragon. I wanted to use a term that could be something like 'brother', to indicate how close of a bond she feels to Dorian, but I didn't want to just use the generic term. So I used this instead. And he _is_ a little dragon, if anyone is. :)

'ma da'fen: my little wolf. Same as above, but Fenlamea is far more of a wolf than a dragon, as her name clearly indicates. Also, I imagine that after 4 or 5 years of being together, Dorian would pick up on little bits of elvish, both from being around her, and from being the scholar that he is.

garas'ara: Follow me.

'ma nuvenin: as you wish.

ma melava halani: you have spent your time to help me. Basically a phrase expressing deep gratitude for long-lasting loyalty and friendship.

ara melava son'ganem: my time is well spent.

'ma serannas: my gratitude, basically; thank you.

sathem lasa halani: pleased to give assistance.

de da'rahn: it was a little thing, no big deal, no problem, etc. Can be shortened to 'da'rahn'.

dinathe'dirthelan: one who speaks to the dead/necromancer.

dun'himelan: shape shifter/body changer.

harellan: traitor to one's kin, dreaded.

* * *

"Is it truly necessary to do this here?"

Abelas quirked his head, trying to understand. Her aura was distinctly anxious and uncomfortable, nearly giving off the appearance of being threatened. She was afraid of this place. Why? He looked about, the frescoes on the round walls bringing life to the room. They reminded him strongly of the murals he had often seen in Arlathan. The room was otherwise empty. The magic was perfectly balanced here; powerful, but peaceful. It was the perfect place to train her new powers, yet she felt the opposite of how she should feel in such a place of peace and beauty.

"What is wrong? This is the ideal place to train, yet you seem ready to flee this empty space. What is it you fear?"

Denial and pride flared through her aura at first, her eyes narrowing, then casting off to the side. He saw the shift to fevered embarrassment and the fear once again reared its head.

"I don't like this room." She kept her eyes firmly on the floor, avoiding the boldly painted walls. "It was his place when he was still here. I haven't spent more time in it than it takes to cross from the door to the stairs in three years. Too many memories. Too much pain."

He watched as an all-too-familiar pattern of sorrow and longing bled into her spirit's reflection. If not for the cloud of resentment that darkened it, he could almost have mistaken it for his own aura. He decided to take the path that would help her the most.

"Lethallan," he waited for her to look at him before proceeding, "you are the Inquisitor, are you not?"

She gave him a look of confused derision. "Of course. I wouldn't be in Skyhold at all if I wasn't."

He scoffed, "Such a pity the common tongue is so plain. This place was once called Tarasyl'an Te'las: the place where the sky was held back. Do you know why? Do you even understand how you were so easily led here? You say the Dread Wolf stayed in this room? It makes sense. This was his study when he lived here in the time of Elvhenan. He built this place to house himself and his forces, with Mythal's help. This was his stronghold. This was the place where the veil was created. From this fortress, he sealed his kin away for their crimes; to this place he will return to undo it all."

He saw her aura ripple with confusion, doubt, shock and anger. Waited, as she carefully ordered her thoughts and feelings. When she looked as if she were about to speak, he raised his hand to halt her.

"You were deceived. You all were. But you know the truth now. Use it. Push past your fear and use the knowledge you possess to claim this place as your own. It is willing to have you as its owner. It has been waiting for a while now for you to make your move. This is the center of its power." He spread his hands out, encompassing the room as he spoke. "Take hold of it and claim it. That is your first task."

She shook her head, "How? I don't know what to do."

"Reach out and seek its center. It is dormant now, in its unclaimed state. You will need to waken it and bind it to your will."

Abelas walked to the edge of the room, turning to gaze at his student. He saw her aura draw toward him and shook his head, the corner of his lips tugging up ever so slightly. He nodded in satisfaction as the pull receded. Her eyes closed and she began to reach out as he'd instructed. Watching her use magic for the first time since her transition to one of the People was a thing of glorious beauty. The smoke from her overflow of power was thick and curling; a barely tempered wild beast, snapping its jaws at her control. He could see the glow of the Fade even through her closed eyelids.

As the fog curved down her arms and reached her mark, it sputtered to life with a crackle and an angry hiss. The vapor blended with the viridian magic of the anchor, radiating and redirecting it over and through her. She willed it to take a shape, urging her combined powers into a sphere that she tethered with the mark. She sent it down slowly into the floor, reaching for the core of the fortress' power.

He felt the shift, when it happened. Indeed, anyone gifted with magic in the area would have felt it. The ancient magics bound deep in the keystones rose and sang around her, pure white light filtering up through the cracks in the stone floor. She guided the center of power up to hover before her, tightly encased by her temporary foci. Her eyelids slid open as she traced the globe gently with her fingers, a small smile gracing her lips as tendrils of the core lapped at her skin invitingly. Her gaze met his over the swirling storm of power she held, a devilish smirk dancing across her features. He stepped forward, approaching to reinforce his instructions.

"Claim it. Draw it into yourself and let it fill you. Prove yourself worthy of it."

She bared her teeth in a feral grin, then focused on her task with renewed determination. Her eyes closed once more. She wove her fingers together around the sphere and began to pull inward, drawing the core into her being. The light faded as it passed through her, then exploded out as it redirected itself; forcing her head back and streaming from her mouth and eyes in three brilliant strobes of light. As the light began to fade, she relaxed, lowering her head and smiling at him.

He fell to his knees, head bowed low. He didn't need to see her aura to know that it was a piece of Mythal, bound to the keystones of the fortress and now controlling the elf before him. He would recognize the feeling of her presence anywhere.

She touched the Inquisitor's palm to his cheek, searching his mind and sifting through the events this piece of her had missed in her slumber. It only took a few brief seconds and she released him, inhaling deeply as she absorbed the information. She shook out the Inquisitor's arms as she exhaled, expelling excess energy that her host couldn't handle. She chuckled and finally spoke.

"Ah, Abelas; how faithfully you cling to your duty, even now. Your devotion is admirable and lovely to behold, son of sorrow. But the well resides in her now. Your duty is over. I grant you a reward for your steadfast obedience: I give you the freedom to tread this new path you've chosen."

She lifted his head with the Inquisitor's hands and spread her fingers over his face, casting a spell on his skin that shimmered with a soft blue haze. As the spell ended, Mythal cupped his cheek and smiled down at him.

"There. Much better. You have burning questions, I know. You want to know what should be done about the Dread Wolf and the power of mine he now wields."

He nodded, "Yes, my Mistress. Your sentinels have been hunting him tirelessly since we felt the shift."

"I know, my dear Abelas," she chuckled, "but he is not a prey you are meant to hunt. I would not have given my power to him without good reason. I suspected he would eventually come, especially if he lost the means to finish his task conventionally. His foci was destroyed, so he needed my power to further our goals."

His eyebrows creased, "You and Fen'harel share the same goal?"

A knowing smirk played across her borrowed mouth. "Have we not always? Was I not murdered for supporting him? We have always been in support of the People. Why would a few thousand years change that?"

He took a breath, comprehension soothing him as he exhaled his worry with his reply.

"I understand."

"I am glad to hear it. Send word to my sentinels to call off the hunt. Tell them they are free. They may join you or choose a new task for now, as they wish. Tell them that things are about to change drastically for this world. It will be as it once was soon, and many will need the guidance they can provide. You should guide this young one to understanding, as well."

He nodded, "As you command, my Mistress. Do you have any further guidance for us?"

"For you, yes." She gave him a kind smile. "I cannot linger within this body, but I have some advice before I depart, Abelas. Let this... Inquisitor be a paradigm to you as you are to her. Look for the beacon of hope and joy that she is to the People. There is much hidden within her, especially for one such as yourself. Seek it out. She will not make it easy, but you must not give up. Find the missing pieces of your heart, my loyal sentinel."

Abelas gaped, his mind circling his Goddess' words as a hunter would a stag. Centuries upon centuries he had lived for Mythal, both guard and guardian, warrior and servant. But within the passage of a few seconds, his Goddess had given him a freedom and release he had never looked to possess, nor ever sought. Like a young halla on weak legs, he was staggered and off-kilter. It felt as though his entire purpose and reason for being had been stripped away, leaving him a raw nerve, exposed and without a shred of protection.

"Thank you, my Mistress. Both for my freedom, and your advice," he paused, confusion flitting over his face, "though I am not entirely sure what to make of it."

Mythal laughed, "My dear Abelas, what is there to make of it? You always _have_ loved making things more complex than what the situation calls for."

Hesitating, a perplexed expression swept across his features.

"I shall... consider it. I am not entirely sure it would be possible, for either of us. What of the Dread Wolf, my Mistress? Is she not bound to him? He will come here to reclaim his foci. Would it not be foolishness to interfere, should he try to rekindle her love for him?"

Mythal gave a sharp, snide laugh, "Ha! Fen'harel can try to reclaim her heart, but he hasn't been free to pursue such things for a very long time. Our goals limit what he can offer her, for now. By the time he is truly free, it will be too late to bridge the chasm between them. She has many seeds of doubt and distrust for him, which only need a hint of nurturing from another to grow into mighty trees with deep roots; ones that would rival the largest in Elvhenan. _Cultivate your salvation_, Abelas."

"I will think on it, my Mistress."

She nodded, "That is all I ask, Abelas. My seeds are sown. I must leave now. Tarasyl'an Te'las is the Inquisitor's now, and she is quite satisfied with her new owner. You may wish to catch your savior when she falls. Goodbye, old friend."

A tear slid from his eye and his voice choked as he bid her farewell.

"Goodbye, my Mistress."

He watched as a single orb of pure energy lifted from the Inquisitor's chest and slid back into the heart of the stronghold from whence it came. The Inquisitor's body went limp as Mythal left her, forcing Abelas to lunge forward to catch her before she crashed to the stones. It was only then he realized what Mythal had meant, and felt a surge of gratitude for all that his Goddess had bestowed upon cradled the Inquisitor's body gently, easing her slight frame into his arms and lifting her. He drew magic around them like a cloak, concealing them as he moved toward the door to the great hall, opening it quietly. He needn't have bothered; the hall was empty as a tomb when he looked. He kept the spell active, just in case.

He headed for the door to her chambers, slipping through and shutting it behind him quickly but gently so as not to disturb her. He steadily ascended the stairs and moved to her bed, laying her out gently over the covers. He dispelled his concealment spell quietly as he observed her.

What had just occurred, was the conclusion of an ages-old conversation, which Mythal had engaged him in many times over the centuries of his service to her. The name he'd taken was in remembrance of the only woman he'd ever shared his heart with, besides Mythal herself. She had been murdered, along with everyone else at the temple, during the same hour Mythal herself had been cut down. Mythal found a host and made contact with the few elvhen still faithful to guarding and keeping her ways. She had promised him that on the day she found the woman that could mend his heart with hers, Mythal would release him to her. Though he would never doubt Mythal, he sometimes wondered if it would ever happen.

He looked down at the newly reborn elvhen woman, shaking his head in awe, still trying to make the pieces fit. When he'd first met her, she was a tiny quickling of an elf bearing Fen'harel's mark and a bare wisp of magical power coursing through her veins. He understood what the God of Rebellion had seen in her; but what Fen'harel had gleaned was a mere whisper of what she'd since become. Would Mythal's guidance even matter, in the face of a god returning to claim his prize?

He sighed and turned from her, pushing his hood back as he moved toward the balcony, smoothing his fingers over the fine stubble on the sides of his head. His fingers weaved into the thick strip of hair running down the middle, reaching for and untying each leather strap that bound his long braid until he reached the end. He carded his fingers through the braid, working his way up until all of his hair was unbound. It was the first time since he was a very young elvhen that he would unbind his hair, without intending to bind it ever again. He mentally prepared the spell he would need for the next step and realized that he would also need a mirror. He looked around and was pleased to see a rather large one, affixed to a vanity with a chair tucked under it in one corner of the room. He moved to it, pulling the chair out and calling the spell to his fingertips. He caught a glimpse of his face in the glass and blinked at what stared back.

Sharp tendrils of shock speared their way through his mind as he realized exactly which spell Mythal had used on him. His vallaslin was gone. He sat down hard in the chair as he stared into the mirror. As he gaped at his reflection, his fingers traced the now blank canvas of skin, where the lines that had defined his path and his purpose had been etched for so long. His face contorted into a fluid mixture of horror, awe and profound relief; unable to decide upon one or the other. His mind reeled at the implications of what she had done, quickly becoming lost amid the tangential consequences. Subconsciously, he'd always known that losing his vallaslin would be a part of gaining his freedom; but knowing it and actually _seeing_ it before him in such austere clarity were two entirely different things.

He looked upon his bare face for the first time in his adult life, turning his head this way and that, taking in the details as his gaze locked with his reflection, despite his movements. As he finished his harried appraisal, he let forth a sharp laugh. He felt utterly ridiculous. The fine gold chains that dangled from the row of piercings in his ears looked gaudy now. It was an exorbitant display, over-compensation instead of the simple adornment they had been. His shaved eyebrows that had once allowed the twining branches of Mythal's glory to shine clearly on his face, now only made his facial expressions more difficult than necessary to read. Lastly, there was the slave's braid that he'd only just finished loosening. It declared his status clearly, even without the blood writing.

He sighed deeply, slowly beginning to accept the shock of seeing his features so drastically changed, and preparing himself for fixing the mess that was left behind. He would have to explain what had happened to the Inqui-

His mind skipped, mid-thought. Amidst all the chaos of his arrival and breaking the news of her former partner's identity, he had utterly neglected to ask the Inquisitor's name. His eyes widened back at him as the realization sunk in and he blinked in surprise that such an important triviality had escaped him. The voice belonging to the name in question held mild amusement as it groggily chastised him from the bed.

"You know, if you really wanted to use my mirror that badly, you didn't need to knock me out. You could've just asked."

The frown that wrinkled his newly naked forehead looked entirely wrong on what felt like a stranger's reflection. He hadn't realized how much Mythal's markings had become a part of his identity until they were gone. He huffed at the offending frown as he turned to give a somewhat distracted reply.

"I did not render you unconscious. Mythal did."

"Mythal-what?" Came her shocked and slightly slurred response, as she sat up in bed. She didn't get very far before she grimaced and gingerly lowered herself back down on it, clutching her head in her hand.

"Calm yourself, lethallan." He stood and moved to her bedside, sighing as he sat on the edge and brought his hood back up. "You need rest to recover from your ordeal."

Her eyes were still closed, as she rubbed the bridge of her nose with a healing spell.

"Fine, tell me what happened after I blacked out and I'll be a good patient. For now."

A smirk graced his face. "Very well. Mythal bound a piece of herself to the keystones of this place. When you attempted to seize control of the magics held here, she temporarily inhabited your body. She spoke to me at length, released me from her service, and stated that Tarasyl'an Te'las is now happily yours. It does seem to be rather taken with you, I must say. It has been some time since I felt so much peace emanating from it."

Her fingers lowered from her face as she sighed. "Alright, so my home likes me. Good to know. More importantly, you say Mythal released... you."

She trailed off as she opened her eyes and saw his face for the first time since waking. She sat up slowly, never taking her eyes off of him as she slid back and crossed her legs, sitting to face him. Her eyes trailed the skin his vallaslin had once occupied, tilting her head as she regarded him. Open curiosity was the most prevalent emotion he could read from her aura, along with compassion skirting its edges, awaiting approval to jump in. As appreciated as the thought was, it wasn't needed.

He nodded. "Yes, I am now free to pursue whatever duty I wish. I am still connected to her, just as you are, but I am no longer bound."

She swallowed thickly and gave a short nod of acceptance.

"Where will you go?"

He read her aura as saddened, but resigned. It was the aura of one who'd grown used to disappointment. He shook his head, quick to reassure her.

"I am not going anywhere. Mythal released me because I found a purpose worth releasing me for. It was a gift for my faithfulness, not a punishment."

She quirked an eyebrow. "And what is this purpose? Must've been pretty important, considering how long you likely served her."

He bowed his head slightly. "It is. I am to guide, protect and train you in your newly acquired powers, as well as assist you with any endeavor you choose to partake in."

Her eyebrows rose and pinched together. They lowered slowly, still pinched and her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him. At length, she spoke.

"Your eyes say your lips speak truth, but your spirit reflects a deeper meaning to your words, lethallin. Speak plainly, or do not speak at all."

A slight smirk flashed across his face. "That is an astute observation, lethallan. However, I assure you that my words are true. As for a deeper meaning, we shall see where events lead us. I do not intend deceit, or betrayal. My loyalty to Mythal notwithstanding, this is a path of my own choosing, and I follow it gladly. You will find me loyal and capable. Should you discover that you no longer require my services, I will depart, if that is your wish. I do hope it does not come to that."

Her eyes had darted over his features as he spoke, reading everything she could all at once. It looked quite exhausting. That thought curved the slightest amused smirk into his lips.

"Do I amuse you, lethallin? I suppose you find it odd that I would attempt to catch the lie in your admission, after my praise of your honesty last night? Can you truly blame me, knowing that the elvhen I once held dear to my heart, was nothing short of the opposite of who he appeared to be? Is it really a wonder that I should be skeptical when I can smell the hidden truth on you?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "No, I do not blame you for anything, lethallan. The truth is, I do not know what will happen, so speaking of the possible future in this case would be as fruitless as wishing that you would simply trust me. Harm is the furthest thing that I desire for you."

She was busy reading the depths of his aura when the last words fell from his lips, but he did not miss the subtle twitch in her brow when she reacted to her observations. It was more telling than a thousand truths. Only then did he realize that his wording might have been a touch _too_ close to the actual truth. When her face relaxed into a pensive expression, he knew she had seen more than he'd wished her to. But if it convinced her of his fealty, it might not have been a complete loss.

She nodded. "'Ma nuvenin. The voices from the well have been screaming at me ever since I woke up to trust you, despite my reservations. I suppose I could listen for once."

He canted his head. "Do you often ignore the advice of the well's voices?"

She shrugged. "When I disagree with them. Which is more often than I'll ever admit to."

Try as he might, he could not keep the amusement from his voice.

"It must be rather tiresome, to always be arguing with hundreds of voices at a time. How do you have proper conversations with such strife whispering in your thoughts?"

She sneered at the wall behind him, rolling her eyes. "Very carefully and it's exhausting."

He chuckled. "I can imagine."

He paused, regarding her carefully. She was worn somewhat thin with the ordeal in the rotunda, but she still appeared to have energy left to finish out the day.

"Come, you should eat to recover your strength. We have much work to do before the day is done."

She lifted a brow, glancing outside. "Well, it is nearly noon. I suppose we could have an early lunch, if you're that hungry."

He stood and chuckled. "Are you not hungry yourself?"

She climbed out of her bed, reaching for her outer robes, sliding them on as she shrugged.

"A little. Let's go see what cook is making for lunch. If it's the same as yesterday, I might skip it again."

A pinprick of concern pierced his calm at her implication. She regularly skipped meals? The breakfast fare had been simple, but filling. Was there a different cook for lunch? He followed her down the stairs, voicing his concern.

"Why would you skip a meal?"

She stopped and turned on the stairs to look at him with her lip curled in distaste.

"Roasted nug. Most people like it. Me? Not so much. I'm not going to eat the same thing that carries me into battle. Just like I wouldn't eat hart."

He raised an eyebrow. "A nug carries you into battle? Why do I find that difficult to believe?"

She chuckled and waved him onward. "I'll prove it to you on the way to the kitchens. Garas'ara."

He followed her, curiosity urging him forward. They moved out into the main hall, finding it to be less abandoned than it had been a half hour ago. Several shems milled about in conversation with each other, though one was conspicuously standing alone, as if waiting for someone. He recognized him as the shem who'd spoken up the previous night, the one the guard had called... Ser Pavus? He abandoned his post beside the great door as they approached, a mixture of genuine warmth and suspicion blending in his aura as he spoke.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to wonder if I would need to mount a rescue effort, after that little display in the rotunda."

He glared at Abelas sharply for a moment, before returning his far kinder gaze to the Inquisitor.

"How are you feeling?"

She smiled. "I'm fine, Dorian, no need to worry."

Pavus' -or Dorian's?- eyebrow raised sharply. "Was that an actual smile, Fenlamea?"

The shem clasped his hand to his chest, feigning staggering shock. Abelas' ears perked at what he assumed was the Inquisitor's name. Fenlamea... how utterly appropriate.

Dorian continued, blissfully unaware of his inadvertent revelation.

"I may just die of shock!"

She snorted and smacked the shem's shoulder in playful reprimand, shaking her head.

"You're an ass, da'isenatha. But yes, that was a smile. I'm feeling better right now than I have in some time. Walk with us? I was going to go see if we were having nug for lunch again or not."

Dorian nodded. "Certainly. I'm surprised our beloved cook hasn't caught onto your distaste for eating what you ride yet. You've been skipping every meal with nug in it for what, four, five years now? After the funeral you held for Nope, I would've thought she'd take the hint."

They were headed down the second flight of stairs into the upper courtyard, when Abelas interrupted them from his position behind them.

"Nope?"

Dorian looked back, nodding solemnly. "Yes, the first mount she ever named. It was a pity he couldn't be saved. He served her incredibly well all throughout the campaign against Corypheus. Our Inquisitor had a penchant back then for jumping from heights that weren't exactly healthy, to quickly get where she wanted to go. Her mounts were no exception, sadly enough for Nope."

Abelas creased his brow in confusion. "As... interesting as that tale is, I still fail to see the reasoning behind naming anything 'Nope'."

Fenlamea raised her hand to stop Dorian from responding, turning to chide Abelas gently, a smirk gracing her features.

"You'll see in a moment, Abelas. Patience."

He gave a small bow.

"'Ma nuvenin."

They continued on without further delay, turning sharply and descending into a path carved through the snow to the lower courtyard, heading off to the area left of the gates. They treaded through the mostly cleared courtyard and arrived at the stables, an aging shem nodding in respect as they passed.

"Will you be needing Nopalina today, Inquisitor?" He asked.

Fenlamea shook her head. "No, thank you, Master Dennet. I just wanted to show her off to Abelas. He doesn't believe a nug could carry me into battle."

Dennet laughed. "Ha! I didn't believe it either, when you first got Nope. I miss that old bugger. Nopalina's got a little too much spirit for my tastes."

Fenlamea snorted. "You mean she bites you because you don't trick her into accepting her bit."

Dennet rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't _need_ to. But, she's your nug, not mine. So long as you intend to keep dressing her yourself, I've no problems. I'd best get to the others. Good day, ma'am."

She nodded. "Same to you, Master Dennet."

She turned to Abelas, spreading her hand to the side in invitation.

"Come, meet Nopalina. I'm curious to see whether you two will get along or not."

He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as he ducked under the awning that shaded the stables. He thought she was putting him on, playing a joke on him. All doubt was erased the moment his eyes adjusted to see the great beast of a horned nugalope that stood in the first stable, staring at him with large, black eyes over her bulbous nose. He turned back to glare at Fenlamea, who wore a decidedly mischievous smirk on her face.

"You failed to mention it was a nugalope, and not a nug."

She chuckled and strode up to her nugalope, resting her hand on Nopalina's nose. The nugalope nuzzled into the attention, closing her eyes and resting her chin on the gate, flicking a lazy fly away from her ear.

"She's quite taken with you," Abelas commented.

"Yes, the beast won't let anyone else near it, most of the time. But of course, she loves Fenlamea," Dorian interjected, leaning against the wall of the barn and eying the nugalope with resentment as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Apparently he decided that friction wasn't enough, and lit a small ball of flame in each hand, a look of relief flooding his face.

Fenlamea chuckled, her tone teasing, "I just understand animals better than you shems, that's all."

Dorian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yes, alright you wild Dalish wolf, you. I'm sure Salek would disagree with you."

Fenlamea scoffed. "You know the only dragon I get along with is you, Dorian. That damn dracolisc of yours can stick his disagreement in his shifty eye for all I care."

A gasp of outraged shock issued from Dorian, his fire going out in his distracted indignation. "How dare you! Salek only has the one eye left, as it is. And it is _not_ shifty."

"Uh-huh. You keep on believing that, if it comforts you." Fenlamea shook her head. "I'm telling you, that thing will turn on you one day, when you least expect it."

"Oh, I fully expect it," he retorted, shoving his hands under his elbows as he crossed his arms. "Which is why he and I get along so well. I don't trust him, and he doesn't trust me. We simply begrudge each others' existence in silence and put up with it. It's a more equitable relationship than I've had with most people, after all."

"Is that so? Do we not have an equitable relationship?" Fenlamea inquired.

Dorian's tone softened as he replied, "_You_ are not 'most people', 'ma da'fen. Do you really think I would still be here with you, righting all the world's wrongs, if I considered you as anything but a sister?"

She let her hand fall from Nopalina's nose, moving to Dorian and wrapping her arms around his torso, mumbling into his robe.

"No, 'ma da'isenatha, you are right, of course. Ma melava halani, lethallin."

He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair before he responded.

"Ara melava son'ganem, lethallan. I could not see myself anywhere else."

Abelas watched their exchange with interest. The shem must have been truly dedicated to her, if he bothered to learn bits of her language to speak with her. His pronunciation was terrible, but the effort was quite commendable. He took particular notice of their terms of endearment for each other. Little dragon and little wolf? He wondered how accurate they would prove to be. Dragons were fierce, powerful, unpredictable. But they could be staunch allies, if presented with a force strong enough to tame them. Wolves were loyal, protective, wild, and needed a pack to be mentally healthy. The Dread Wolf was proof enough of that. Going so long without a pack had made him cling desperately to the first minutely familiar thing that crossed his path; namely, Fenlamea. If he had indeed seen a kindred spirit in her, perhaps the shem's nickname for her was more accurate than he realized.

He recognized the gaze of familial love between them as they parted. Their auras clung tightly to each other, the bond of blood radiating from where their spirits touched. If the shem had proven himself to her that strongly, perhaps he would need to adjust his esteem of... Dorian.

Further inspection of Dorian's aura revealed his affinity for necromancy, as spirits of the dead flitted around him unbidden, naturally drawn to his attunement with them. Curiosity bade him look to her aura for the same purpose. While it was easily readable to him, her preferred form of magic was not apparent. Had she never chosen any particular discipline? He found that incredibly odd. Even the gods had their preferred spells and talents. Every shem mage he'd ever encountered had at least a slight preference or skill they were particularly suited for. He spoke up as she turned to him.

"I find it curious that you do not have a preferred specialization of magic. Your friend is dinathe'dirthelan, but I cannot find any hint to your affinity in your aura. It is most unusual."

Dorian answered before she could, "Ah yes, I've asked her about that before. I assume dinathe'dirthelan is your term for necromancer, yes?"

Abelas nodded, turning to Fenlamea with a raised eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I dabble with a bit of everything. I was given the chance to learn one of three specializations once, but none of them really appealed to me at the time."

"Which were those?"

She sighed, looking up as she recalled them from memory.

"Let's see; there was a daft shem who couldn't remember her own name trying to teach me about rift magic, a very militaristic elf who wanted to show me how to slice and dice with a spectral blade, and an extremely polite mortalatasi who offered to tell me the secrets of necromancy. I let them cater to the mages we'd gathered into our forces instead."

His jaw hitched forward as he considered her response.

"If none of them interested you, what would?"

She looked down, her expression pensive. She bit her lip as she looked back up at him, only releasing it to reply.

"Did Flemeth ever tell you about her daughter, Morrigan?"

When he shook his head, she nodded and explained, "She was a shape shifter, among other things. You saw her when you and I first met at the temple. I asked her before she left, if she would teach me. She refused. I think she was still resentful that I hadn't let her drink from the well; despite her relief when she realized she would've been a slave to her mother's will, had she imbibed. If ever I saw a particular specialization that intrigued me, it was that. I haven't been able to find another to instruct me in it, sadly."

Abelas chuckled. "That is simple enough to teach. I am surprised you do not already know it. Anyone gifted with magic can learn it, with patience. But that is not truly a specialization; it is merely an ability."

Her eyebrows shot up in excitement. "You could teach it?"

He nodded. "Yes. However, I find it difficult to believe that the art of dun'himelan is truly all you seek to learn. There are much stronger, more beneficial methods to augment your skills, such as the path your friend has chosen."

He watched her bite her lip once more in thought, gaze drifting down.

"Perhaps I'll revisit the idea, then. I did rather admire Vivienne's preference, once I saw it in action. Her healing powers were rather impressive as well; much stronger than my own."

Dorian scoffed. "You can hardly call that little headache cure you do 'healing', da'fen. What Vivienne used required spirits to lend her aid. What you use is just personal mana."

"Well I'm not an arcane warrior, am I?" She snipped back at him, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

"No, but he is," Dorian nodded, pointing toward Abelas, "if what your report stated was accurate."

She gave a sharp laugh. "You mean you actually _read_ my reports? I thought you just used them as wine coasters."

Dorian scoffed again, rolling his eyes. "I do, _after_ I read them."

She chuckled and shook her head, turning back to Abelas. Her eyes roamed over him, seeming to size him up. She jerked her chin at him as she finished her appraisal.

"Can you teach me that, as well?"

He nodded. "Yes, if that is what you wish to learn."

"I believe so, yes."

"'Ma nuvenin," he replied, with a slight bow of his head.

She returned the bow. "'Ma serannas, lethallin."

He nodded. "Sathem lasa halani, lethallan. Shall we go see what is being served for lunch? I believe we are no longer early for it, as long as we have been conversing."

"Ah! Yes, I completely forgot. We might actually be fashionably late, come to think of it. We should probably just head back to the main hall."

Dorian waved her on. "You go on ahead, Fenlamea. I'd like to steal your elvhen companion for a moment, if that's alright."

Her brows drew together in concern. "Is everything alright?"

Dorian nodded. "Of course. I simply wanted to speak with him, since it seems he'll be sticking around for a while. May as well get to know him a little better."

She paused, looking her friend over warily before nodding.

"Alright, if Abelas doesn't have any objections. Don't keep him too long; you both have to eat sometime, and I'd like to get started on some training before the day is done."

Dorian smiled congenially. "Naturally. We'll be along soon."

She nodded in lieu of a bow to both of them, then turned and headed back toward the stairs on the other end of the courtyard. Dorian waited until she was out of earshot before he began, keeping a quiet tone.

"So, I hear you have plans to woo my best friend."

Dorian turned to face him, narrowed eyes regarding him sharply.

"You do realize this is a terrible lapse of judgment on your part, don't you? Her heart belongs to someone that already ripped it out and stomped on it. It took me six months to get her to leave her chambers at a reasonable time each day, after that horrible little god elf broke her. Only in the past year have I finally begun to see some of the light she once had creep back into her eyes. My surprise at her smile earlier was genuine, much as I played it off. Does she know of your intentions? Does she know why Mythal truly freed you? Or have you kept that hidden from her, just as he kept his betrayal hidden until the end?"

Abelas shook his head. "Mythal did not free me to win Fenlamea's heart. She freed me to guide and serve her, in whatever capacity she needed. If the future requires more, then it shall be so; but I am not here simply to bed and leave her when she needs me the most, if that is your worry. I am not the Dread Wolf, I do not thrive on trickery as he does."

Dorian stepped forward until there were a scant few inches between them, his aura clearly reflecting the anger in his face, his voice as hard as stone.

"Do not trifle with me, elf. I saw what happened, I was there, just above it all. I had a clear view, and I have ears. 'Cultivate your salvation', she said. She all but ordered you to woo Fenlamea. You served her for how many thousands of years? Am I to believe that you would suddenly forget all of that in the face of your freedom, and ignore the words of the deity you served faithfully for so long? I think not."

Abelas waved his hand as if shooing the shem away like a bothersome insect.

"I care little for your assumptions, shem. I shall prove my worth, or be sent away. Your opinions are not my concern."

He made to move around Dorian and head to the hall, but Dorian grabbed his arm to stop him. He tolerated the minor captivity for the moment, mostly out of respect for Fenlamea's esteem of Dorian.

"You may not care for my opinions, elf, but I doubt you have so little concern for hers. You wouldn't brush aside the thoughts of the one person you came here seeking, the one you've stayed for; and you certainly won't forget your goddess' words. I will be watching you, carefully."

At that, Abelas reached the end of his tolerance. He sneered and yanked his arm out of Dorian's grasp.

"Watch all you like, shem. I do not wish her ill, any more than I wish it upon myself. Save your threats and warnings for the Dread Wolf. He is the one that should fear retribution, not I."

He'd taken his first few steps away when Dorian lifted his voice to say one last thing.

"Agreed, he should fear such things. I'll also have you know that you're wrong: the Dread Wolf didn't bed her and leave her. He pretended to love her, gained her trust and heart. Then he left her, a crumbled ruin of what she once was. I wish he'd only bedded her and left; that might've been easier for her to recover from. I'm not speaking to you now because I believe you want to hurt her. I'm speaking to you because she won't survive being hurt like that once more, and I refuse to watch her wither away because of the selfish betrayal of another. Not again. Not ever."

He looked over his shoulder at the shem. Dorian hadn't turned to speak, so Abelas had a moment of semi-privacy to observe his aura. It radiated with love, trust and worry for his friend. Suspicion and wariness of Abelas lingered around the edges, lending a stark contrast to Dorian's opinions of the two elvhen currently in his life. A shadow of hatred dwelt in the background, presumably for the Dread Wolf. Abelas sighed heavily and turned back to speak.

"Dorian, your concern for Fenlamea is just, but I will not harm her, now or ever. Whether I pursue her in that manner or not, I have chosen to aid her in whatever path she chooses. If that path leads to us walking side by side, or separately; it will be her decision, not mine. I will not actively encourage her toward either direction. If she begins to pursue me, I will not turn her away. If she does not, I will stand by her side until she sends me from it."

Dorian turned his head, not quite looking at Abelas.

"What of Mythal's command?"

Abelas shook his head, taking a step closer as he spoke.

"It is true that Mythal encouraged me to cultivate what she calls my salvation; I do not deny that. But it was not an order. Just as Mythal gave me the option of my own choices by freeing me, I will give Fenlamea the chance to chose her own path, without any undue influence from me. I will advise her and help her when she wishes it, and be her silent guardian when she does not. You have my word."

Dorian turned to face Abelas, his expression as conflicted as his spirit.

"And what assurance do I have that your word means anything to you; that you won't go back on it the moment it suits you? I want to believe you, Abelas, I truly do. But my experience with ancient elves - however limited it may be - has taught me not to trust them. I don't even think she trusts you."

Abelas sighed. "Your experience is limited to a trickster, who deceives everyone he encounters. I have been in the service of a goddess that could read every thought I had for centuries. If I give my word, I intend to keep whatever promise I have made with it. Watch me, as you declared you would. I do not hide my intentions and actions, as the Dread Wolf does. Give me the chance to prove myself, just as I am certain she once did for you."

Dorian's teeth were clenched as he listened Abelas' reply. Abelas could see his jaw muscles flex slowly while Dorian considered, then relax when he seemed to find acceptance. Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes, waving Abelas off.

"Oh, very well. You have your chance. See that I don't regret my generosity."

Abelas bowed slightly. "'Ma serannas, Dorian. I will not give you cause to regret it."

Dorian hummed skeptically, then nodded.

"De da'rahn, Abelas. We'll see what happens. In the meantime, I believe we're expected for lunch. We'd better be going, before she sends a runner to collect us."

Abelas nodded in assent and turned, leading the way from the stables. Dorian moved to his side, matching his long strides.

"It's a shame the center of power here happens to be his study. She's avoided that damn room as much as possible for a long time now, and I don't blame her. It took us a year to convince her to let us clear out his things, to lessen the reminder."

Abelas shook his head. "If she does not learn to confront the pain and fear, she will never grow beyond what she is. It is a painful lesson, but a useful one. She will be better off for it, in the long run."

Dorian nodded. "True enough. I suppose if she'll listen to anyone on that front, it would be you; much as it pains me to admit it."

Abelas huffed a laugh. "Perhaps we shall all learn a few lessons, then."

"Oh? What lessons would those be?"

Abelas smirked as they began to climb the steps to the upper courtyard.

"You may learn, in time, to accept that you are wrong to assume that I will hurt her, as he did. It is also possible that I may learn to trust the shem who knows her better than most, when he offers advice. We shall see."

Dorian snorted. "The shem you refer to is me, I assume?"

Abelas nodded.

"Well then, maybe we'll all learn to forgive and forget, and become one big happy family, someday. It could happen. It won't, but it could."

Abelas raised an eyebrow. "You do not believe it possible? It would not be the oddest thing I have seen come to pass."

Dorian gave a wry laugh. "An ancient elf and a human learn to trust each other, despite centuries of built up conflict and social differences, despite quarreling over a woman; and become fast friends? It seems rather unlikely, doesn't it?"

"Only if one does not keep an open mind to such things."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Right you are. It's possible, I'll grant you that. Still unlikely, however."

They reached the doors to the great hall and parted ways; Dorian headed to the seat at the right hand of Fenlamea, Abelas headed to a chair further down the left side of the table from her. She smiled as they seated themselves.

"Kind of you to join us, gentlemen. I was beginning to wonder if I should send a runner for you, but it seems you've saved me the trouble."

Dorian replied, "Well you didn't have to hold everyone up on our accounts. Maker knows the food is probably cold by now; I'd have hurried if I'd known you'd wait."

Fenlamea scoffed, snapping her fingers with a smile.

"Da'rahn, lethallin. I kept the food warm. As for everyone's hungry bellies, you're here now, so I imagine it will soon be forgotten."

Dorian lifted his plate to see the fading fire rune beneath it, raising an eyebrow as he returned the plate to the table.

"I see. Sorry to keep everyone waiting, then," he said to those gathered at the table in general.

A round of shrugs and forgiveness issued from those seated, as they began to eat and drink, chatting companionably amongst themselves. Abelas observed their interactions quietly, eating what was most decidedly _not_ roasted nug, but broiled ram steak. The slab of ram was paired with a doughy, yet crisp bread pudding and topped with drippings floating with peppercorns and a hint of mint oil that wafted gently up to his nose. Far better fare than he expected. He suspected it to be a dish Fenlamea herself had asked the cook to prepare. It was indeed one he had enjoyed many times over the centuries, all the way back to his childhood.

The only thing missing was- ah, there it was. He spotted a bowl with large chunks of bread settled within reach, along with several others down the length of the table. He took a chunk of the bread and set it next to the now half-eaten steak to sop up any juices left behind. A true elvhen meal was a balm to his scattered mind; a comforting reminder and a sign of home. Home... the thought tugged the corner of his mouth up, as he listened idly to the chattering of what he supposed were now his companions.

He wondered which of them actually would accompany Fenlamea on missions. Dorian, certainly. The kind of bond they had would form the quickest and strongest on the battlefield. The bond... ah, yes. He looked carefully at the auras of those around the table, gaging which ones pulled to Fenlamea's in the same fashion as Dorian's did. The gray beast of a horned man that he'd been told was a qunari had it, as well as a much stronger pull towards Dorian, reciprocated equally by Dorian's aura. Interesting. The scarred, short-haired woman had it; as did the scruffy-haired, bearded man. There were also tendrils coming from her and others that were either slowly beginning to fade, or simply had nothing to latch onto.

Except for one. That one was attached to something in the room. His eyes followed the trail to an empty spot along the wall. No, not empty. Shimmering, glinting with the Fade. A spirit? Fenlamea considered a spirit amongst the ranks of her companions? It was fascinating, if true. He scooped up a bite of the pudding with his spoon, casting a subtle dispel over the being to reveal it properly.

The scarred woman shouted in alarm, Dorian sighed and rolled his eyes, and the qunari beast growled. Those on the other side of the table turned and reacted similarly, gasps and sighs abounding for a moment, before they all slowly turned back to their food with shrugs and heads shaking. Fenlamea was the first to speak.

"Good of you to actually show yourself for once, Compassion. I was beginning to wonder if you would hide there all day. What news do you bring, if any?"

A spirit of compassion was a companion? And it was uncorrupted? A rarity, indeed. That it appeared as a young shem was even more unusual. What was its story, he wondered?

Compassion shifted uneasily before it spoke, picking at the frayed rags wound around its wrists and hands.

"I didn't show myself, he showed me. Soul that sorrows but sings new hope, a new day, a new song. One life cast away, another begins. How will I live it, I wonder? How will I serve? Will it be enough?"

Fenlamea sighed. "Compassion, remember what I've said, probably a thousand times now?"

The spirit nodded. "Don't speak people's thoughts aloud where everyone can hear, Cole. Their thoughts are their own."

"That's right. Though, I haven't called you that for several years now."

It shook its head, the voluminous brim of its hat flopping about as it did so.

"No. It's still my name, though. You only refuse to say it because it brings back the old pain."

"That's quite enough, Compassion," she snapped, "we can speak on this later, if we must. Apologize to Abelas, please."

Cole, as it apparently preferred to be called, canted its head to the side.

"There is no need. The only two who can hear me are you and Sorrow. The others have forgotten."

Fenlamea sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, stroking the bridge of her nose with her healing spell.

"_I_ still know what you said about him, Compassion. I doubt he was interested in having anyone hear that at all."

Abelas shook his head. "It is alright, Fenlamea. He said nothing more than you already know."

Cole looked at Fenlamea and spoke as if Abelas had stayed silent.

"You want to forget, but I can't make you forget anymore."

She raised her head, eyebrows cocked in confusion at Cole.

"What are you on about now?"

Cole pointed to its head. "You listened to the old songs the voices sang to you, and you embraced them. Now I can't make you forget anymore. Just like Sorrow can't forget. It's why he sorrows. The new song helps."

She let her hands fall with a small slap to the table in frustrated confusion.

"Are you serious? I can't forget anymore? New song? No, wait, forget I asked about that, I don't need to know."

Cole seemed eager to reply, "Yes, you listened to the old song and... I," it stopped, lost for a moment, "what were we talking about?"

Fenlamea's eyes widened, her aura screaming the shocked recognition of deja vu. She looked at Abelas, back at Cole, then stared off into the unseen distance.

"His eyes go blank as he speaks those words, the words he must forget, and asks her what they were talking about. She wants to forget, but he can't help her when he can't remember what she wants to forget. He tries to find it in her head, but something is blocking him, something keeps him away. Walls around walls around what she needs, and he can't get through them no matter how hard he tries. He wants to help, but he can't anymore. She tells him to leave, and calls him Compassion."

Fenlamea seemed lost in shock. Cole turned to Abelas, explaining.

"That was when she sent me away. She didn't want to risk corrupting me. Someone dear to her - the one I can't remember - had told her once, that a spirit denied its purpose would become corrupt. She listened too well to the song he sang. I never really left. I let her think I did, because it helped. I only let her see me when I heard something in the Fade she would want to hear. But I never heard what she really hoped for."

Cole seemed to want to continue, but the loud smack of Fenlamea's hands against the table and her chair's feet scraping along stone as she stood, interrupted it.

"_Enough!_ If you have nothing useful to say, then go somewhere else, if you refuse to leave. I don't need to be reminded of that harellan. Certainly not by his puppet."

Cole's head quirked. "I'm not a puppet. I'm a spirit."

Anger flared in violent red hues through her aura, staining it crimson as her entire body tensed to pounce; her eyes wide, teeth bared before she screamed at him.

"HE SPOKE THROUGH YOU."

But for her ragged breathing, silence reigned supreme. Abelas watched as her fury cooled and slowly spiraled into sorrow, regret and despair; the tension in her body waning until she slumped back into her chair, covering her eyes.

Cole stared at the spot where she'd stood, eyes boring through the now empty space as its mouth shifted quickly with words it gave no voice to. The others at the table slowly rose, one after the other, their meal finished, and departed in utter ignorance of the standstill around them. Cole visibly relaxed after they all filtered out of the hall, though its gaze was still stuck on that same spot. Its lips still moved, but there was the slightest whisper of sound that slowly became speech as it continued.

"...might see the path I now must walk in solitude forever. My fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for. Though you reach out in compassion, I must now insist that you _forget_."

It gasped, eyes riveting to Fenlamea's slouched form as its hand lifted to point at her.

"You remembered it for me! You remembered... him! Why did you wait so long? Why did you wait until you couldn't forget anymore? I only wanted to help."

Fenlamea lowered her hand, revealing eyes glazed with sadness and oh, _so_ tired.

"I've never forgotten it, Cole. You were blocked from remembering, because you didn't know what he'd done to you. After a while, I realized it was better for you not to know. So I didn't tell you. I know the truth now, so there's no point in hiding any longer. He was not who he pretended to be. You knew."

Cole nodded. "Yes, I knew. His pain was never silent. It was quieter, when you were near him. But it still bubbled under the surface, never letting him forget, never letting him choose."

Fenlamea laughed, and it was a cold, sharp sound that sliced through the air with the finality of death.

"Oh, he made many choices. He made a choice, when he kissed me back in the Fade. He made a choice, when he said he needed time to consider. He made a choice, when he said ar lath ma, vhen'an." Her voice broke, and she forced the next words out through tears that fell over her lips.

"He made a choice, when he left me broken and empty in Crestwood."

She shook her head, wiping the tears away and taking a steadying breath before she continued.

"He made plenty of choices, Cole. Just never the right ones."

Cole shook its head. "He couldn't make the choice he wanted to."

Her laugh was bitter. "Ha! And what choice was that, then?"

"You."

She pursed her lips, eyes closing and brows pressed together as she lowered her head. Her aura flashed from one emotion to another, almost too quickly to read: betrayal, anger, regret, sorrow. Pure, gaping, unhealed, _agonizingly raw_ pain. Envy, passion, lust, utter _emptiness_. A myriad of tantalizing and sour things that she painted on the canvas of her soul, with a palette of wretched loss. Then, she took a breath, and with the exhale, expelled all of it; a wash of whiteness, a clean slate, a blank canvas. Abelas had only seen such a thing done by one other person. It was then that he truly recognized the wolf in her. She looked at Cole and smiled.

"Well he's too late to make that choice now, isn't he?"

Cole looked lost, its mouth opening and closing several times as it stared at her, before it finally landed on the right word.

"_How?_"

Fenlamea smirked. "I _chose_."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm only going to give you translations for new words/phrases, when they first appear. Any words or phrases which appear again that have been used in previous chapters, you'll have to look at the translations provided in those chapters. I'm doing this so there isn't a dictionary at the beginning of each chapter.

Translations:

fenedhis: wolf dick. The elvish equivalent of damn it, essentially.

* * *

"Again!"

Abelas paced around the edges of the room, watching his student struggle to form a spectral blade from the Fade's energy. It had been months since she'd requested he teach her the talents he now wielded with ease, but still she struggled with the blade. The other concepts she'd picked up easily, as if she'd been born to them. Yet for whatever reason the blade, the most important aspect of the tradition, gave her great pause..

It wasn't that she struggled to pull sufficient energy - she was more than capable of drawing vast amounts of power from beyond the veil, with little more effort than it took to flick a fly away. It was more that she was having trouble coalescing it all into the shape she needed, then keeping it there. She could form the blade, but the moment she went to strike the straw dummy with it, the energy dissipated no matter how many times she tried. It was tiresome to watch. He knew she could do it; she simply _hadn't_. Something was holding her back, but he'd yet to discover what that something was, despite several conversations on the topic.

One troubling thing he'd noticed, was the persistent, passionless aura he'd observed the night Cole was allowed back into Fenlamea's company. He'd yet to see an ounce of any emotion in her spirit since then; almost as if the foul practice of severing a mage's connection to the Fade had been conducted. Her ability to draw on the Fade had been far from muted, so that certainly wasn't the cause. When he'd seen her aura rendered blank, he'd assumed it would be a temporary status, something that proved her devotion to her choice. The longer it remained, the more concerned he became.

He watched as she effortlessly brought the blade to life once more, then, just as she moved to strike, the power fled from the physical hilt. She sighed, moving back into position to try again at his word. When the word didn't come, she looked at him, eyebrow raised.

Perhaps the two issues were connected. He raised his hand to stop her, shaking his head. "We are done for now. Garas'ara, we need to speak. I believe I know why you are struggling so with this."

She followed him quietly out the door and across the grand hall, as he looked for a quiet spot in the garden. This time of year, most residents and guests of Tarasyl'an Te'las stayed indoors, rather than brave the cold for a garden that wasn't in bloom. The deserted courtyard made for an excellent place to have a private conversation. He settled himself onto a bench in a tucked away corner, gesturing to the other end of it in invitation to her. She sat, sliding her gaze from him to look out over the barren garden, leaning her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands before her.

"So, what's wrong with me?"

He tilted his head as he looked at her. "And why must there be something wrong with you?"

She snorted. "Because I can't keep the blade going long enough to actually hit something with it. Because I have the attention span of a halla. Because I'm not disciplined enough. Because I chose the wrong specialization. Take your pick."

"Is that what you truly believe?"

She huffed. "I don't know. It makes more sense for it to be one of those, rather than I just can't do it. We've been over this a hundred times. I don't know what's wrong with me. You said you might, though, so tell me. It's better than running in circles, chasing my tail."

He smiled at the image she summoned in his head with her words. It had indeed felt like she'd been doing that for a while now. "I believe you are blocking your emotions. It keeps you from striking, because you lack reason to strike. You have no rage to guide you, no drive to succeed, no passion for your choice. It is the same reason your transformations lack the finesse and life of a real animal. It is the only explanation that makes sense."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "You think I'm not feeling any emotions? What, like I'm tranquil or something?"

He nodded. "It is similar, though your connection to the Fade has not been altered in any way. I have not seen a hint of color in your aura since the night you allowed Cole to come back. Since you made whatever choice you did that evening. I admit, I have been wondering how long you would allow it to persist."

For a long while, she was silent, her eyes locked on the stone between her feet. What her body did not betray, her spirit broadcast loud and clear. He witnessed the walls crumble under the weight of the maelstrom that threatened to consume her. Her aura was the color of her eyes; a wild blending of every emotion coming together and crashing over the shores of her eyelids to spill gently onto the dunes of her cheeks, swept away by the brush of her hand. She leaned back against the wall, turning her head to him with a tight smile.

"Is this what you want, Sorrow? There is little between this and silence for me now. Is this useful for you?"

He sighed sadly. "Lethallan, it is not my wish to cause you pain. But pain can be a useful tool. It can be harnessed, refocused, redirected. I can teach you how, if you will let me. It will give you the control you must have to find a middle ground. That is what you need; indeed it is something I suspect you have needed for quite some time now."

At first, she was angry. Her eyes narrowed at him, her teeth clenched and grinding as she glared. Then, her eyes closed as she turned away with a sigh as her anger bled away. What was left behind shaded her aura with the black taint of guilt.

"Ir abelas, hah'ren. You are correct, of course; much as I want to deny it."

He couldn't hide his surprise at her addressing him with that title. While he had been her teacher and guide for a while now, she had never once verbally placed him in that position. He had been called her kin, her companion; but never her hah'ren. It felt wrong somehow, though he couldn't explain why. Something to ponder in his evening meditations, to be sure.

She'd turned back to him and seemed to be waiting for him to say something, her expression growing concerned in the enduring silence. "Is something wrong?"

He looked out upon the browned and snowed-over vegetation dotting the garden. The elfroot was the only stubbornly green thing in the entire place, sticking up out of a terracotta pot in stark defiance of the snow glittering on its leaves. He shook his head gently. "No. I am well. You simply surprised me."

Her laughter held genuine mirth and warmth as it bounced off the stone walls and landed with gentle comfort in his ears. "And how did I manage such an incredible feat, hah'ren? I truly can't imagine what surprise would look like on your face. I am sad I missed it."

He tilted his head, confusion marring his features. "Why are you saddened to have missed it?"

Her voice was sincere as she explained, "Because I imagine it a rare thing for anyone to ever surprise you. It's a memory I'd want to savor with the proper imagery. As it is, I'll have to go without."

"You would savor such a memory?"

"Yes. Would you not, if our positions were reversed?"

Try as he might, he couldn't place himself in her position. "I am... uncertain. There are many memories I cherish, but none so small as an expression on someone's face. Perhaps it is a difference in perspective that is at fault."

"Perhaps." She conceded with a nod. "Well, hah'ren, should we continue training? The day still has life left in it, for those willing to seize it."

"It does. I have an idea for teaching you control that you should try. I believe it will be more effective than any other means."

"Well," she says, standing and gesturing for him to to lead the way, "I'm willing to give it a try. Anything's better than being a dead or raw nerve constantly."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

"I take it back. This isn't better. This is _insane_."

She sat on her bed, looking at Abelas like he'd lost his mind. Fen'harel's foci slowly rolled from where he'd dropped it on her bed, bumping against the shin of her folded leg.

"You want me to _use_ that damn thing? It's not even mine, what makes you think I won't do something horrible with it by accident?"

He chuckled. Actually chuckled. Like she was some fool da'len that hadn't been through hell and back _because_ of that damn orb.

"The foci will not allow you to do anything that would harm you. It is as much yours as it is the Dread Wolf's now, thanks to the anchor. It will teach you control far better than any method I could convey. I will assist where I am able, but in regards to control, it is the best teacher between the two of us."

She raised an eyebrow. "But it killed Corypheus when he unlocked it. The only reason he survived was his lovely, little blight-induced body swapping trick."

He shook his head. "Yes, but the foci did not belong to him. It destroyed everything around it in retaliation, not because it was the will of the one wielding it. Anyone using the foci without a connection to it would only be able to use it at great risk to themselves. It poses no risk to you."

"Alright." Her brow creased, doubt creeping into her mind. "But what about you? Isn't there a risk to you being here while I use it?"

"Only if you wish me harm. Do you?"

She scoffed. "You have to ask? You were the harbinger of my finally understanding what happened. You're my hah'ren. Why would I wish you harm?"

He nodded. "Then there is no risk. If that is truly how you feel, the foci will react appropriately."

She looked down at the orb, which glowed softly where it touched her. Truthfully, she really didn't want it to be hers. She was afraid that her resentment would alter how the foci reacted to her. Abelas interrupted her doubt, voicing the hesitation floating in her head.

"You are afraid to use it. Why?"

"I..." She sighed. No point in trying to hide it. "I don't want it. Won't it react badly to that?"

"Ah." He gestured to the orb. "You resent it for who it belonged to. I shall ask you this, then: do you resent a staff because of its previous owner? An amulet? A robe?"

"No, of course not. They're inanimate objects used in the service of mages. This is different. This is the power-filled foci of a god that betrayed me."

"No," he said as he shook his head, "it is not different. First, you believe this foci to be filled with Fen'harel's power? It is not. It is filled with your power. His left when the foci was shattered. You reforged it, with my help; it is your power that now fills it. Second, he did not betray you. He deceived you. It may feel like a betrayal, but consider his actions carefully. He did everything in his power to help you until your enemy was defeated. The cause of the trouble may have been him, but he still assisted you in fixing it. He trained you to use his anchor. He left you with the tools necessary to your continued success. All in all, that is far from a betrayal. A convenient deception, certainly; but not a betrayal. Third-"

She interrupted him. "Enough! Are you going to use all of your fingers to point out how wrong I am?"

He looked down, realizing that he'd been ticking off his points with his fingers. He folded his hands behind him, his aura tinged with embarrassment.

"No. But if you claim I am your hah'ren, perhaps you should listen when I advise."

She sighed. "Fine. Thirdly, what?"

"He was not a god."

She gaped at him. "What? You've said yourself the members of the pantheon were gods. Did you have a change of heart after you gained your freedom?"

"I have had no change of heart. What you call gods were not truly gods, not all of them. It is simply the most convenient title for them. They are beings whose power rivals that of a god, but they are not truly divine, save two. They were nearly all self-made, except the ones who were raised, such as Fen'harel or Ghilan'nain. The pantheon never declared themselves gods, though they possess immense power. The People elevated them to divinity with their worship."

She was stunned into silence. It was yet another thing that elven legend got wrong, in a long list of such falsehoods, but this was bigger than anything that had been revealed so far. Still, a question niggled at the corners of her mind.

"All but two? Were two of them actually divine, then?"

He nodded. "Yes. Elgar'nan and Mythal were gods. They helped raise the others in the pantheon to their status, but the rest could never truly be divine, as they were born of this world. Elgar'nan and Mythal never required foci. The rest had to use them to augment their powers in order to bridge the gap between their own personal power and that of a true god."

He gestured at the foci once more, then at her hand. "You now have as much power as one of the raised gods, with the anchor and the foci tuned to you. There are already many who worship you as their god's prophet. You are truly a rival to any of the gods, save Elgar'nan or Mythal themselves. Whether you chose to claim that power and use it to further your goals or not, is up to you."

His words sent her mind into a downward spiral as she tried to comprehend the scope of what he'd told her. Her heart rate sped up and her lungs began to feel as if Falon'din himself were squeezing them, she couldn't catch her breath. The foci sparked a jolt of magic through her where it touched her leg and she flinched, retreating from it and her bed quickly, fleeing to the smaller balcony. She gripped the railing with shaking hands, her eyes looking out over the mountains, but not truly seeing anything. Her heart hammered against her chest, her breaths sharp and shallow as she desperately sucked air into her lungs. _She_ was equal to the gods themselves? No! Impossible! No, no, no. He was wrong. He had to be.

Her vision spun as her knees buckled under her and she sank to her heels, gripping the railing with white knuckled desperation to stay upright, as her head swam through swirling mists of shock and doubt. Her grip weakened as she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. _In, out, steady. In, out._

Suddenly, warmth folded over her hands on the railing, reinforcing her slipping grip. Her eyes snapped open to see Abelas' hands gently, but securely wrapped around hers. How had she not heard him approach? Her gaze shot upward to see his golden eyes looking down at her in alarmed concern. He said nothing, but the comfort of his support focused her hazy mind in a way she wouldn't have thought possible until that moment.

Her breathing sluggishly deepened and slowed as her heart calmed its attack on her ribs. She took a steadying breath and nodded to reassure him. His grasp on her hands slowly loosened, but she could feel he was tensed to reclaim them if she faltered. She slid her right hand out from under his and braced it behind her as she let herself sit fully. His hand still hovered over her left until she was solidly seated. She forced a trembling chuckle.

"Did Mythal tell you to help me recover from panic attacks too?" She asked, only partly in jest.

That pulled a worried smile from his lips before he replied, "No, but it does not therefore follow that I will not, when necessary."

She chuckled, more evenly that time, as she reclaimed her left hand to slide back and lean against the railing as she sat. "So formal. I trip over myself like a weakling and you come over in all your polite glory to show me how ridiculous I am."

He shook his head. "You are the last person I could call a weakling, Fenlamea. You have endured much and did the best you could, under the circumstances. Better than most would, especially without knowing the truth. You are far from weak."

She smiled faintly, leaning her head back on the railing. She drew her knees up, resting her arms on them as she took a deep breath, releasing some of her tension with a scoffing snort.

"So, I'm what people would call a god. That's... just great."

He tilted his head. "Why does this displease you so?"

She gave a sharp laugh. "Hah! Do you want a list of reasons? Let's see, then. To start with, I never asked for any of it. The anchor, the worship, the power; none of it. I was sent to spy on a shem gathering and report back to my clan on the results. Instead, I became some prophet to a god I don't believe in and was thrust into fixing a world that a god's selfish impatience broke.

Not that it wasn't already at war before he broke it. Of course I had to fix that too. The mages are still at war, just with each other now, instead of everyone else; so most of the world doesn't care about that unless it barges into their territory. The Wardens are all but gone, so if another blight happens, we're fucked. Orlais is trying to rip itself apart from within, despite my efforts to unite the three rulers there. And I was deceived by the very god that yanked my heart out and let the veil be torn open in the first place. It all happened on my watch. If I am a god, I have done very poorly, indeed."

Abelas sat, mirroring her position against the wall opposite her.

"You were not at your full power when all of this happened. It is because you did not seek to become powerful that the world is not in complete ruin. You did the only thing that could be done in those situations. Berating yourself for the past, will not help you improve the future."

She scoffed. "And what am I to do now that I'm a god of some sort? What happens when the Wolf comes to reclaim his precious toy? Just because it's full of my power now doesn't mean he isn't connected to it; it was his to begin with. You know he'll come for it. Am I to simply let it go with my blessings?"

He shook his head. "No. If you truly wish my council on the matter, I can suggest a course of action that will not lead to separation from your power."

She snorted a laugh. "Sure, why not? Advise the new god in her godhood. It's better than me floundering about without direction."

He inclined his head, a smirk on his lips. "Wise of you. I suggest that we accompany him to see his task through."

Her eyebrows shot up. "_What?_ You're not serious?! Surely not. What would that accomplish? Why would he even allow for that? And accompany him where? I thought he would come here to undo what he did?"

"He will come here, to retrieve his foci and likely to attempt to reason with you, before he leaves to carry out his plan. He would allow it, because he would be powerless to do anything but recognize that the foci is no longer only his to do with as he pleases. And I am perfectly serious. Accompanying him to remove the veil and free the pantheon would be an excellent move on your part. Not only would it force the remaining members of the pantheon to take notice of you, but it would allow you to bargain for Fen'harel's life, should you choose to. It would also allow you to be the herald of a new age, rather than just a prophet of some shem god. That _you_ could usher in a new age and the return of the gods of old, would bring the attention of the entire world. It would draw the petty wars of all mortals to a standstill, giving them a chance to reconsider their foolishness."

She sat there, slack jawed, staring at him for a few speechless moments. It... made sense, as insane as it was. Really, was it any crazier than anything else she'd done? She'd already changed the world once, what was one more time?

"That... is an excellent set of points, save one. Should he be spared? I am not so certain."

He sighed, nodding. "I can understand your hesitation. He deceived you and used you in many ways. But his feelings for you are genuine. Would you leave him to his fate, knowing this?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "So he really does love me. It didn't stop him from breaking and leaving me to rot for three years, without so much as a letter or a raven or _something_ to explain himself. He's only returning to take his power back. Give me a better reason to let him redeem himself than 'he loves me'. Because I'm not so sure that matters anymore."

He tilted his head, his newly grown eyebrows bunching together as he regarded her. "You do not harbor concern for him any longer?"

She looked up at the sky above her, pondering. Did she care about him anymore? If not, what had changed to allow her to move on, after years of clinging to the tattered thread of hope that he might return? She may have hidden her feelings for him beneath a cloud of resentment all that time, but now, even peering through that cloud revealed very little. Was it truly gone? And if it was, when had that happened? How?

She looked back down and over at Abelas, where he sat waiting for her answer. "I... don't know. Not long ago, I could've had a definitive answer for you. But now..."

She shook her head, eyes boring into the stone wall before her. "Now, I know one thing for sure. He is no longer my vhen'an. Whether I will care about his fate when the time comes, remains to be seen. Perhaps I will, out of some sense of mercy. I don't wish death on anyone that doesn't deserve it, as a general policy."

She looked back at him, canting her head as she spoke, "Do you think he deserves mercy?"

"It is not my decision. The pantheon would not consult a servant on such matters."

She rolled her eyes. "Fenedhis, I don't give a fuck what _they_ would do. _I'm_ asking you what you think, not them. You're here to advise and train me, aren't you? So advise me."

He frowned. "Yes, that is why I am here. But I cannot tell you what to do. I can only advise you in the ideal course of action. Whether the Dread Wolf should be spared or not is your decision, not mine."

She growled low in her throat. "I'm not asking you to tell me what to do. I'm asking for insight from someone who has a clue what he's really like, who knows what he's done! If it were your choice, what would your verdict be?"

A mixture of displeasure and uncertainty folded in on itself within his aura, swirling in a war dance around each other as his gaze bored into the floor. He shook his head, a frustrated huff leaving him as he turned his gaze on her.

"Despite his most recent blunders, his past actions were necessary. Now, his and Mythal's goals are aligned. Their sense of justice has always been equal, even when their other qualities were not. Mythal would not have raised him and stood beside him against the others, if she believed him to be anything but her friend and ally. She would not have given her power over to him if she did not wish to. If it were my choice, I would show mercy; for Mythal's sake, if nothing else."

She pursed her lips, mulling over that information. "So, based on Mythal's opinion of him, you would choose mercy?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She sighed, closing her eyes. His argument was sound, regardless of how she felt on the subject. If Mythal saw the Wolf as an ally, who was she to allow his death for petty vengeance? She opened her eyes and nodded, decision made.

"Very well. When he comes, we will go with him. I will do what I can to convince the others to see reason, if reason can be had. But I will do it for Mythal's sake, not my own. If it were only for me, I do not think I would make the attempt. Not any longer."

He bowed his head. "Ma nuvenin. I must say, I am surprised to hear that you do not care for him, or his fate, now. When last we spoke of it, you still harbored much in the way of concern for him, despite great resentment and regret. If I may ask, what changed?"

She folded one leg under her other still raised knee, leaning on her braced arm, face scrunched up in thought. A sigh escaped her as she shook her head.

"I don't know, really. Though, if anything could've brought it about, it was you."

He canted his head. "Me? How have I affected your feelings for the Dread Wolf?"

She chuckled, a thoughtful expression on her face as her gaze slid to him. "Dorian helped me through the initial trials of being dropped like a hot rock by an elf I loved and lost. But _you_... you helped me overcome my feelings for a god who deceived me. You showed me a new path; one I hadn't even considered as a possibility. You opened many doors for me that were shut tight before you arrived. You showed me what could happen if I just looked outside of myself and my shem existence. So yes, it is you that I have to thank. For that, and so much more."

He bowed his head. "I am pleased that my service has been of benefit to you. It is my hope it will continue to do so."

She frowned. "Is that what this is to you? Servitude?"

"In part, yes. Am I not serving by training and assisting you? Has my advice not helped you to become what you are now?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a groan of frustrated dread. "Abelas, please, _please_ tell me that you haven't simply been fulfilling some misguided, archaic sense of duty by remaining here. Tell me it was your choice to stay. If you've only seen all of this as some exercise in continuing your service to Mythal, so help me, I may just spontaneously explode."

He laughed heartily, the sound prompting her to look at him as he threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut and amusement flooding his aura. It was the first time since she'd known him that she'd ever heard more than a quiet murmur of his humor. It was lovely, if a bit surreal. He looked back at her when his mirth subsided some, a genuine smile - teeth and all - stretched across his face.

"Worry not, lethallan. I would not be here if I did not desire it. Mythal may have advised me to stay and help you, but it was not a command. Any command she could give now would have no true power over me, since I am no longer bound to her. My duty to her has ended. I remain because I _wish_ to serve, not because I am compelled to."

She sighed as relief flooded through her. "Well, good. I'm glad to hear that someone I consider a friend isn't just hanging around because he thinks he's a servant. That... would be awkward."

A smile continued to grace his lips, though now more subtle. "You consider me a friend?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Should I not?"

"Do not misunderstand me, I am honored that you see me as such. It is unexpected, that is all."

She gave a surprised laugh. "Ha! How many people have you seen spend months with each other in constant training and conversation that haven't become something at least close to friends? Is it really so unbelievable? I already considered you kin and my hah'ren; what is so strange about seeing you as a friend?"

He shook his head. "Not strange, just surprising. I am unused to being surprised so often, especially by one so young."

She snorted in derision. "I see! My comparative youth is what has you so baffled. It's all coming together now. Shall you start calling me da'len now, hah'ren?"

He gave a subtle eye roll, sighing. "No, I shall not. Our age differences matter little now. You may call me hah'ren if it pleases you, but the title does not fit me as well as you suppose."

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Does it not? You teach and guide me. You are older and far more experienced than I. If ever there was a more accurate definition for the title of hah'ren, I have not heard it."

He raised his eyebrow. "Can one be a hah'ren to a goddess?"

She snorted. "I am no goddess, despite what you say. But perhaps the gods should all have a hah'ren. From what Fen'harel told me, there was constant in-fighting amongst the pantheon. If they'd all had a hah'ren to guide them, they might've avoided such things."

He tilted his head in a shrug. "Perhaps. It may come to pass that you will be the first of the pantheon to rule without such childish behavior. But I doubt that it would stem solely from my influence."

She chuckled. "Ah, such humility, hah'ren. But I will not rule anything, nor am I a part of the pantheon. Your insistence to the contrary doesn't make it any more possible."

He sighed. "You set yourself on this path, lethallan. By choosing to accompany the Dread Wolf on his mission, you decided your fate. You can still change it, but even if you do not accompany him, the pantheon will eventually find you."

A frown creased her brow. "The way you say that makes me think they wouldn't look too kindly on me if I chose that path instead."

"They would not. They would see you as kin to Fen'harel, as a rival, just as Corypheus did; albeit for different reasons. Some would wish to kill you, to prevent your interference in their affairs."

She scoffed. "So I'm fucked either way, is what you're saying?"

He hesitated. "That... is one way of saying it, I suppose. However, you would be... much less so if you went with your original decision to go with him."

She groaned, tapping the back of her head against the railing a few times in vexation. The last voice she ever expected to hear cut through her consciousness as the final resounding painful echo of her tapping receded.

"He is not wrong, vhen'an."


	4. Chapter 4

Translations:

Su an'banal i'ma: to the void with you.

Sathem: pleased, basically a shortened version of 'I am pleased'. The name of Abelas' hart.

Atisha: peace. The name of Fen'harel's hart.

* * *

Her heart leapt to her throat as she stood so quickly, nearly tripping over herself.

"Sol- Fen- _fenedhis_! _Why_ must you do that, every time? Are you _trying_ to kill me?" she yelled at him, not holding back one ounce of her ire in her angered embarrassment.

"And you!" She turned on Abelas. "Are you going to tell me you didn't know he was there, either?"

"No." He shook his head. "I was aware. But you both needed to hear what was said."

"But," she sputtered, "how long has he been there? How much did he hear? What... FUCK!"

She folded the Fade and blinked past both of them into her chambers, coming to a standstill by the staircase with her fists clenched at her sides. This was _not_ how she'd envisioned this scenario, not in the slightest. She scoffed, turning to see them both facing her. Abelas was just to the inside the balcony door, arms crossed. Fen'harel was standing to the other side, concern blending with amusement in his aura. It was only then that she noticed he'd grown his hair out; the sides still shaved, while the crown layered silken auburn locks into the leather thong, which tethered them at the back of his head. She snorted and shook her head, rolling her eyes at the ridiculous sight.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, heaving a sigh before she looked back up.

"Alright, let's try that again. Hello, liar. And Mythal too, I suppose."

"Abelas, I will have words with you later for this. There was no reason for you to keep his presence hidden from me. Keep it up and I might start to think you're more of a wolf than you let on."

Dismissing Abelas, she focused her attention on her former lover and studied him.

Abelas smirked, then nodded and sat in one of the chairs before the fire; remaining near her in case she needed him, as always.

"So, how much did you hear? For your own sake, don't lie to me. Not only will I know it, but it will not end well for you if you do."

"Do not think to threaten me in my own home, vhen'an." He frowned at her. "Being so crass does not suit you."

"_Stop_ calling me that," she growled. "As for your home, have you even bothered to reach out to it, or have you been so concerned with your toy that you didn't care to notice?"

She watched his aura swirl into a chilled simmer. "I call you vhen'an because it is what you are. What else shall I call you? Lavellan? Inquisitor? As to my home, no, I have not noticed anything different. I am unsure what you mean. I am also uncertain what it is you refer to as my toy. If you would be so kind as to explain, I would appreciate it."

"Call me by my name, if you must call me anything. Or have you forgotten that, too?"

His features darkened in anger and regret, along with his aura. "I have not forgotten, Fenlamea; not once. Now please, explain."

"Very well." She pursed her lips, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Your toy is sitting on the bed over there, thrumming with my magic. Your home has been claimed, right out from under you. It seems quite pleased with its new owner, since its old one has neglected it for so long. Amongst all the other things he's neglected."

"I see," he replied distractedly, reaching out to test what she'd said, "so you are aware of everything, then? I assume Abelas is responsible?"

"Don't bring him into this." She cut across the air in front of her with her hand. "He doesn't deserve whatever halla shit you're cooking up in petty revenge. He did what any decent person would do. He saved me from my foolishness. You should thank him."

"_I_ should thank _him_?" He sneered. "For _what_? For leading you away from me? For helping you corrupt my foci? For guiding you to steal my home from me? Exactly what should I thank him for, Fenlamea?"

She smirked, tilting her head back to look down her nose at the god-child he was behaving like.

"For being the hah'ren you refused to be, in your deceit. For giving me a new path. For guiding me to something greater than my shem existence, instead of selfishly using me for his own ends. For giving me the chance to live freely, instead of bound to the chains of slavery that you tried to imprison me with."

"Just how did I try to imprison you, exactly? If I recall correctly, it was I who removed your vallaslin. How is that an attempt to force you into slavery?"

"You really have no concept of what you've put me through for three years, do you?" She scoffed. "Su an'banal i'ma, you complete and utter ass."

She heard a stifled snicker behind her, which she studiously ignored as she watched Fen'harel fume in front of her.

"Do you think you were the only one to suffer? I have loved you every moment of every hour since I last saw you. It was torture to stay away."

"And yet you persisted." She snorted. "You didn't even send a raven to let me know you were alive! Yes, I can see your love so clearly, Fen'harel. It's clear as mud, and just as pure."

She shook her head, disgusted with both of them. Herself, for ever believing a word he said. Him for... everything.

"I must've been blind all these years to think you ever truly cared at all."

Just as he was about to reply, his eyes flooded with a blue glow, reminiscent of the eyes of mages she'd met who had bonded with spirits when the spirit surfaced. A female voice blended with his own as his lips parted to speak.

"Have a care, girl. He speaks the truth, no matter how much you wish to deny it, or how much it may burn. Abelas, come here, please. I hear there have been some changes in my absence. I would like an update."

She heard him get up, watching as he moved around her to kneel before the Mythal-possessed Fen'harel. Mythal sighed.

"Get up, boy. I can see you've been released, there is no need to kneel." 'She' gestured to Fenlamea. "Do you see her kneeling?"

"I..." He glanced back at Fenlamea as he stood. "No, my Mistress."

"Good!" Mythal smiled. "I'm glad your eyesight is still sharp as ever. Now then, let me see."

Abelas kept his head bowed as Mythal lifted Fen'harel's hand to Abelas' cheek. After a few moments, 'she' nodded, releasing his cheek.

"Quite the tangled web you three have woven. I'm actually rather impressed. It's a complete mess, but it's an impressive one."

"It's something." Fenlamea chuckled. "While you're here, I have to ask: is Abelas right about this situation where I'm basically a raised god? It doesn't seem feasible."

"He is, dear girl. It will be _very_ interesting to see how my kin react to that little morsel. You do still plan on going with us to see this through, I hope?"

She grimaced, nodding her head reluctantly. "If you think it wise. It's not my first choice, and it may well be my last, if things go sour. But I'll do it. I'm curious though; where are we going, exactly?"

Mythal laughed. "He will show you the way and it won't go sour, girl. My remaining kin have more sense than to destroy the ones who free them. Retaliation will be had for confining them, but I believe mercy may be had as well, if it is properly bargained for."

"What exactly would such a bargain entail?" Fenlamea groaned, "I already gave myself to your service when I drank from the Vir'abelasan; what more could I possibly offer?"

Mythal canted 'her' head. "Why, service as a member of the pantheon, of course. Our numbers are diminished, thanks to the blights. Those few of us left will need powerful allies to bolster our ranks and set this world to rights. You are still the Inquisitor, are you not? With the influence you already have and what you will naturally gain by ushering in a new age, it will be a much smoother transition with you at our side. Think on it, little goddess. His life in exchange for your aid. It is a fair bargain, if you care enough to make it."

Mythal turned her gaze on Abelas. "Now then, son of sorrow; I believe I advised you to take a new name. Have you really not yet found one that suits you?"

Abelas shook his head. "No, my Mistress."

"Well." Mythal humphed, looking over at Fenlamea with a measured smile. "Let us hope that changes soon. I should be going, Fen'harel is making an awful racket trying to re-surface. Farewell, friends. I shall see you soon."

Abelas and Fenlamea bowed their heads, Mythal smiling as the light in Fen'harel's eyes faded. He blinked, shaking his head.

"I... what? Ah, I see." He huffed. "Mythal. Again."

Abelas smirked, then nodded and returned to his seat by the fire.

"Yes, Mythal paid us a visit." Fenlamea sighed. "And I have decided our course of action."

He raised his eyebrow. "Have you, now?" he scoffed, "Am I to have no say in this?"

She rolled her eyes at him, sparking her anchor and reaching out to their foci, which happily flung itself into her hand.

"I think you've said enough, Wolf. It's time to live up to my name and be the voice that guards your life. Even if my heart holds little comfort for you now, I do not condone senseless slaughter. You used me, ripped my heart out, and left me to rot. But I will be happier to see you pay for it with ashes heaped upon that pretty new hair of yours, than to have your head cleaved from your shoulders. The justice of guilt will serve nicely, I believe."

He gaped at her in shock and dismay. After what appeared to be several attempts to form words, she held up her hand to silence him.

"Enough. You will lead us where we must go. So help me, Wolf, do _not_ lead us astray. I am _trying_ to help you."

She sighed. "I need to inform my people of our departure." She shook her head. "Did you even bother to let them know you were here, or did you just invite yourself into my quarters?"

He coughed sheepishly, finally coming to his senses. "I came directly here. I did not think it appropriate to stir the entire keep into an uproar."

"An uproar indeed." She snorted. "There are many here who would love a chance to pummel or scream at you for several hours. And I don't blame them a bit. If I didn't have more pressing matters to attend to, I would join them. Alas, it will have to wait. Stay here then. I will retrieve you before we depart."

He nodded. "Ma nuvenin."

She turned and left, Abelas following as she descended the stairs. Once they were close to the door leading to the great hall, she stopped and sighed, slumping against the wall for support as she looked at Abelas with chagrin. Her words were whispered when she spoke.

"Explain to me why you decided it was a good idea to hide his presence. And tell me how long he was there, what he heard, all of it. I despise not knowing all the facts. You know this."

He sighed, leaning against the opposite wall as he matched her whispered tone.

"He was there long enough to hear what you intend to do, no longer. At least, not that I am aware of. He only let himself be known at that point, but he could have been there far longer if he wished to remain hidden. I cannot say for certain."

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly, then opening them as she slowly let it out, nodding.

"As I thought." She pinned him with a glare. "Don't trick me like that again, hah'ren. I understand why you did it, but just... don't. I had enough of that halla shit to last a lifetime from him; I don't need it from you, too. I need to be able to trust someone through all this."

He nodded. "I understand, lethallan. For what it is worth, I apologize for my part in that deception."

"Apology accepted." She sighed and nodded at the door. "Let's get to it."

He bowed in deference and followed her out into the great hall. She headed into the Ambassador's office, hailing her as she entered.

"Josie, could you call everyone together for me, please? I need to announce something important. Also, I'll need to have excuses made for any duties for... a while. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."

"Of course, I shall gather them at once."Josephine's eyebrows creased in concern. "You are leaving us, Mistress Lavellan?"

"For a time, yes." Fenlamea nodded. "I'll send regular updates by raven, but this is something that has to be done. Abelas will be with me, as will a select few others."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "And you have no idea how long you will be gone?"

"No." Fenlamea shook her head. "It could be as little as a few hours, or as long as several months. I can't be sure yet."

Confusion and concerned alarm lit Josephine's aura brightly, but she reigned it in.

"Very well, I will send runners for the others immediately. How soon do you wish to depart?"

"As quickly as possible. Send word for Master Dennet to ready Salek, Nopalina, Sathem, Atisha, and whatever Cole is calling his hart this week. We will need them all."

"Goodness, but that is a large party! I... wait." Josephine's eyes widened. "Mistress Lavellan, is Atisha not..." She swallowed as she said the name, "Solas' hart?"

"Yes, it is. Before you ask, all that needs to be known is that it's needed. I have my reasons."

"Very well, but you know there will be others who will ask questions."

"Of course they will." She sighed. "But I trust you to be discrete, Josie. Please, just do as I ask."

Josephine bowed her head. "At once."

Fenlamea smiled warmly. "Thank you, Josie. I'll be in the war room, just tell them to meet me there."

"I will. Mistress Lavellan?"

"Yes, Josie?"

She gave a worried smile. "Good luck."

Fenlamea laughed. "Thank you, Josie. I think I'll need it."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm skipping the war council meeting because frankly, it's too many people for me to write, all talking at once. I can barely handle conversations with three characters. Let alone Cass, Josie, Cullen, Bull, Dorian, Cole, Abelas, Fenlamea and Blackwall (And anyone else I might've forgotten. Leliana is Divine, so she's not there. Viv went back to court ages ago. Varric went back to Kirkwall. Sera is... somewhere. She sends ravens once in a while.), all at once. So yes, I noped out of that. Sorry. Suffice it to say, arguments were had, graces were given for leave if people wished it, Dorian and Cole were asked to come with her and accepted. Bull wanted to come too (To be with Dorian.), but when he heard it would involve the Fade and weird magical 'demony crap', he graciously bowed out, with thanks for the warning and a wish of good luck. Yeah, I cheated. It would've been too convoluted and probably boring to follow, if I'd attempted it. So... deal with it. :P

Translations:

Banal: nothing, or void. In this case, 'nothing'.

* * *

She trudged up the stairs to her quarters with Abelas at her side, heaving a sigh as she reached the top. Her eyes swept the room, finding Fen'harel standing on the larger balcony, hands held before him as he looked out over the mountain peaks. She felt the slightest hint of a flutter in her stomach at the sight. Uncertainty swept through her at this discovery.

'_No,'_ she thought, as shook her head slightly, _'I'm done with that. 'Harden my heart', indeed. It's past time I heeded that advice.'_

She sparked her anchor to call their foci, surprise gracing her features as Fen'harel turned and held it up on his fingertips.

"Looking for this?"

"Yes." She pursed her lips. "But it matters little if you have it already. I'm going to gear up and pack. We're heading out as soon as Dorian is ready. You know he always takes forever."

He canted his head, confusion flaring through his aura.

"You are bringing a shemlen into this matter? It does not concern him."

Her steps were as full of fury as her voice when she came face to face with him. "Dorian may be a shemlen, but _he_ is the shemlen who cleaned up the shattered wreck _you_ made of me. If it weren't for him, there would be nothing but an empty shell where I now stand. Don't you _dare_ speak another cruel word about him ever again, Fen'harel. He has been more true to me than you could ever _dream_ of being, even _with_ your mastery over the Fade."

His jaw tensed and a sneer was barely kept from properly forming on his lips, but he sighed and gave a small nod of assent.

"Ma nuvenin. I am grateful for the help he has given you, so I will respect your wishes."

"Yes, by all means." She snorted. "Barely tolerate the one person that kept me sane for three years after you abandoned me. Bravo." She shook her head in disgust. "I don't know why I spend my time trying to explain what true friendship is to you, of all people. Let's just get this over with."

She turned, heading for her armor stand. She was halfway there when his voice interrupted her approach.

"If you think I need a lesson, by all means, teach it. I will listen."

She tensed, fists curling her hands tightly, nails biting half moon circles into her palms in a bid to remain in control. She took a deep, steadying breath. She opened her left hand and sparked her anchor, yanking their foci from his hands to smack into her palm lightly, her fingers curling around it in surprising comfort at its presence there. She relaxed, bringing the foci up and cradling it to her stomach as she continued to her armor stand, setting the foci gently on her vanity. She donned her armor methodically, the familiar motions a balm to her frayed nerves. As she finished, she opened her wardrobe, taking a pack from it and stuffing a few necessities into it quickly. She took up the foci, sliding it into a side pocket on the pack and slipping it onto her shoulders. She turned and nodded to Abelas, then glanced at Fen'harel as she spoke.

"Atisha will be with us when we leave. I suggest you find us outside the gates to avoid a scene. Dorian and Cole know who you really are. I cannot promise that Dorian will hold back his ire, but you _will_ be civil, at the very least. Cole will probably say too much for all of us, as usual. Be prepared for anger on both their parts. Cole remembers. None of us have been completely whole since you abandoned us all. If you think your recklessness only affected me, you're about to see exactly how wrong that assumption is."

"Ah." He nodded, as if understanding had only just come to him. "So this is your lesson. You wish to teach me what my supposed selfishness has cost those around me, is that it?"

She closed her eyes as she let her head hang, fingers gracing her brow with a faint blue glow.

"No, you fool. You assume too much, as always. I have no lesson to teach you that will not already be learned on this journey. However, if I did wish to teach you such lessons, that would be a good one to start with."

She raised her head, letting her hand fall to her side with a smirk as she walked past him. Abelas fell into step with her, slightly behind and to her side. She heard Fen'harel give a frustrated huff, then follow them. She looked back to see him drawing the veil around him like a cloak, concealing his presence entirely. She shrugged.

"If that's how you want to play it. Cole will still see you."

She pushed open the door to the great hall, trekking quickly to the rotunda. As she entered, she looked up, calling out, "Dorian! You up there?"

One of the scouts - she couldn't remember her name for the life of her - leaned over the railing and shouted back, "He's just left, Inquisitor. Said to tell you he was heading for the gates if you came by."

Fenlamea saluted. "Thank you for telling me."

The scout smiled, returning the salute. "Anytime, your worship."

Fenlamea turned around, going back out the way she came. Her shoulder brushed Fen'harel's concealed one, a shudder racing up her spine from the brief contact. She sneered at the doorway, giving herself a subtle shake to rid her of the sensation. A different, albeit familiar sensation brushed against her senses from beside her; a crackle in the veil, a subtle wave of energy that she recognized as Cole, still hidden from mortal eyes. She looked at the source, nodding when he turned to look at her. She put her concentration into a single message to send across to him.

'_Thank you for coming with us, Cole. It means a lot.'_

When she saw his small smile peeking out from under the brim of his hat, she knew he'd heard her. A nod that sent his hat flopping slightly confirmed it. She smiled as she breezed through the main doors of the great hall, taking the steps down quickly and aiming for the main gates. Dorian waved from his seat astride Salek, patting the dracolisk with the same hand as it threatened to rear itself onto its hind legs. Cole blinked from her side, fully appearing on the back of his hart a second later, scaring Dorian half to death.

"Ah! _Vishante kaffas_, why must you do that, Cole?" His eyes snapped to Fenlamea not a moment after chiding Cole. "And don't you dare start, da'fen. I know you conspire with him to frighten me. It's not possible for him to be that good at it without help."

"If only I could take so much credit, da'isenatha." She chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm afraid he does it all on his own. Even spirits must find enjoyment where they can, after all."

"No, I don't believe a word of it." He shook his head, pointing at her accusingly. "You're just too modest to admit that you have a hand in it, every time."

"I wish." She grinned. "Let's get going; I don't know how long this will take, but I'd like to get there as soon as possible."

"Ah yes," he said as she mounted up, "and where is 'there', exactly?"

She shrugged as she settled in, taking the reigns and patting Nopalina in comfort.

"We shall find out soon enough."

"Find out?" He looked at her askance. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

She nodded at Atisha, as Abelas mounted Sathem.

"We have a guide."

He raised his eyebrow, eyes widening as he looked at her questioningly.

"Reach out with your mana, if you're impatient, Dorian." She sighed and urged Nopalina forward. "You'll see soon enough without it."

He was impatient, of course. As the group moved forward, Atisha in the lead, she felt Dorian's aura stretch out, searching. She felt it snap back, hearing a gasp from Dorian when they were halfway across the bridge.

"You're _not_ serious. He can't really be here. You mean to tell me, after all this time, he really did come back? For that _fucking foci_?" At that point, he broke off into a stream of tevene that sounded very much like a string of curses, if his tone was any indication.

She sighed. This was going to be a long ride.

It wasn't until they were well past the visual range of Tarasyl'an Te'las that Fen'harel lowered his concealment spell. As soon as he did, Dorian lit the cuff of Fen'harel's sleeve on fire.

"Dorian," Fenlamea groaned as she put it out with ice, chastising her best friend, "_Later_, if you please. Besides, it's not just Fen'harel in there. I'd appreciate it if you didn't catch Mythal on fire while you're at it."

"Oh for- _fine_." Dorian rolled his eyes, scoffing. "But this isn't over. If you think I'm going to stand for this-"

She ceased his tirade with a hand lifted for silence.

"I know, Dorian. You're not the only one, believe me. But for now, let's just get this over with."

Fen'harel, for his part, sat with his shoulders tensed.

Fenlamea chuckled at the sight. "Expecting another attack, Fen'harel?"

His quiet sigh was the only response.

They turned onto a hidden trail up the mountainside. The path was narrow and snowed in, but Fen'harel followed it easily. They soon crested the mountain, which leveled out onto a large plateau, after a short descent on the other side. Fen'harel brought Atisha to a halt, dismounting promptly and looking to Fenlamea with distracted agitation.

"I will need... our foci."

She raised an eyebrow, eyes searching his aura for deception. She humphed, surprised when she found none. Shrugging, she brought her anchor to life, using it to pull their foci from her pack and pushing it out to hover in front of Fen'harel.

"There you go."

He plucked it from the grasp of her magic, grimacing slightly.

"'Ma serannas."

She shrugged again. "Da'rahn."

He snorted, speaking to her, though his eyes were fixed on their foci, turning it slowly in his hands. "Your elvish has improved."

"Mythal's priests are good teachers."

"Ah yes, the Well of Sorrows. Have the voices become impossible to silence, yet? Have you even tried to use the power to do what you said you would?"

"What do you think I'm _doing_, Wolf?" She growled. "Or have you somehow forgotten my purpose in coming here?"

"He thinks you will betray him," Cole intervened, "that you lie to him as he lied to you, layers upon layers of deceit; hiding, masking what he truly wants."

"You seriously think I could betray you, after all this?" She looked at Fen'harel with narrowed eyes. "What would that gain me, Wolf? _Banal_. What does he mean?" she asked, nodding her head at Cole, "What is it you want?"

The tips of his ears flushed red, the only indicator she'd ever seen before now of the embarrassment he hid so well. What she could see in his aura revealed how strongly he truly felt it, as it thoroughly suffused his spirit, flaring out for anyone with the ability to read it.

"The same thing I have wanted since I met you, vhen'an: to give you a better world."

With that, he activated their foci, turning and guiding its power out before him. A structure slowly began to reveal itself. Any area the magic wasn't aimed at soon retreated back behind the powerful concealment at work there. He found the entrance and steadied the flow to leave that visible.

"There. Everyone who wishes to see this through, come with me. Do not enter if you are not committed."

They all dismounted, following him to where he stood beside the entrance. He handed their foci to her carefully, stepping inside to usher them in. Abelas followed readily, as did Cole. Dorian looked at her, his expression and aura wavering, uncertain. She nodded in assurance. He sighed and went through, reluctantly. She followed him, handing the foci to Fen'harel when he reached for it.

What greeted them once they were inside was a much larger building than she had assumed, from what little she'd seen of the exterior. It was ancient, but beautifully preserved; a temple of some sorts. As she looked around, it became obvious whose temple it was, by the many wolf statues and mosaics dotting the entrance. She chuckled, somehow unsurprised.

"So how many of these are there, tucked away and hidden like this one?"

"This is the only one remaining, the only one that was not destroyed. There were none others hidden like this. Dirthamen bade me whisper many secrets to him in exchange for his enchantment on this place. I could not afford another."

"Interesting." She raised an eyebrow. "But will he not speak this secret in retaliation for being locked away? And why did you choose this temple, instead of say, Tarasyl'an Te'las?"

"There are far more damning secrets of mine that he knows to tell than this one." He chuckled. "Besides, they will all know of it once they are brought here. And I did not have him enchant Tarasyl'an Te'las, because Mythal protects it herself. Surely you were already aware of that, since you stole it from me."

"I 'stole' nothing, Fen'harel," she scoffed. "I claimed an abandoned fortress that was hungry for an owner. Must we go over this again?"

"No, you are correct; we should concentrate our efforts on the task at hand." He sighed. "Follow me."

She followed, watching his aura for trickery as he guided them, dispelling traps and barriers along the way. She saw no hint of deception, even when they reached the heart of the temple. He spread his hands out to the center altar in welcome.

"Come, we have reached our destination."

They gathered around the altar as he set their foci on a small pedestal that fit it perfectly.

"Concentrate your mana on the foci, all of you. Mythal and I will assist and direct the energy, but it will be far easier with all of us together."

"But," Cole interjected, "I have no mana. I'm not a mage."

"You are a spirit, Cole." Fen'harel chuckled, smiling as he spoke, "You have will. Use it, if you wish to help."

"I want to help." Cole nodded. "I will try."

Fenlamea nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Cole."

"I don't mean to be the cloud shading your ray of sunshine here, but won't your gods have an objection to a shemlen being here?" Dorian asked, his aura flaring discomfort and fear in equal measures.

"They will not care who is here, aside from Fenlamea and I." Fen'harel shook his head. "It is likely they will ignore the rest of you entirely. If not, they would not be so foolish as to look unkindly on those who released them; aside from myself, of course."

"Well, I certainly don't blame them for that." Dorian scoffed. "But are you certain they will not harm anyone besides you?"

"Yes." Fen'harel sighed. "I am certain."

Dorian looked to Fenlamea for confirmation.

She made eye contact and nodded. "He's telling the truth, for once."

"Can we please concentrate on the task at hand?" Fen'harel groaned. "I gain nothing by deceiving you at this point."

Fenlamea held her hand up. "Wait. Which of the gods are still alive? Do you know?"

"Is that really so important at this time, vhen'an?" Fen'harel glared at her. "Does it truly matter?"

"I'm not asking out of idle curiosity, Wolf." Fenlamea growled. "I'd like to have some idea who we'll be facing. It's a valid question."

"Very well, if you must know." He sighed, shaking his head. "Mythal and I survive; as well as Elgar'nan, Dirthamen, Falon'din, June, and Anaris. Sylaise, Ghilan'nain, Andruil, Daern'thal, and Geldauran were destroyed by the blight that Andruil brought upon them with her weak will."

"Andruil?" Dorian interjected, "I thought it was the ancient Magisters who entered the Black City with Corypheus that started the blights?"

"Do you believe every tale held up as truth by your supposed scholars, Dorian?" Abelas chuckled. "Have you not yet seen enough evidence of what actually happened, to break free from the chains of falsehoods that those shems imprison you with?"

"Well, if we're going to point fingers, Abelas; your descendants didn't exactly get it right, either." Dorian scoffed. "The Dalish are wrong on just about everything, it turns out."

Abelas shook his head. "Did I ever say the Dalish were excluded from the category of shems, falon?"

Dorian bobbed his head in a shrug of assent.

"Fair point."

"They're getting impatient," Cole murmured.

"Yes," Fenlamea agreed before Cole could say anything else, "We know what we need to do. Let's get to it."


	6. Chapter 6

Exhaling, Fenlamea centered herself before beginning to press her mana outwards, channeling it into the foci. She could feel the familiar touch of Fen'harel's magic, as well as the gentler guidance of Mythal, directing both her magic and the others'.

It did not take long for the power to begin building, heaping into and around the foci, thrumming hard through the air and vibrating against the Veil. It was a physical sensation, like insects crawling on her skin, but also a rush across her soul, delving deep into her mana pool.

The feeling of Cole's power was strange but not unwelcome; behind her closed eyelids, the presence of his will became a bright light, calling the focus of the mages forward. Fenlamea focused on Cole, flexing her magical muscles and _pushing _it through him with all her strength. The anchor flared, bursting to life in her palm; the magic pulsed and sang, spinning through her soul and blood before spilling outwards, almost joyful in the task she set before it.

In the end, it took little work to bring down the veil. The ground shook - staggering them all, but Abelas was at her side, a hand between her shoulders to keep her upright.

A sound rent the air, one that she would never be able to truly describe when telling the story in the future: like a thousand trumpets and a thousand voices lifting and crying out all at once, declaring the rebirth of the old world anew. As it shouted in triumph, a smaller, quieter song breathed new life into the world, like the sorrowful melody of a single violin singing in the sun.

Magic crackled around them like static, pulling their hair and pressing their clothing against their skin. Without warning it _gushed _forward, a hot torrent of raw, pure energy that fell upon the world like a tidal wave.

At her side, Dorian groaned. Opening her eyes, she found him on his knees, staggered under the weight of what had been released. His head lolled back, eyelids fluttering. Instead of being greeted with the calming blue gaze she had come to cherish over the years, a soft light poured from his eyes, glinting with the power flowing through him and all around them.

Looking to her right, she saw Fen'harel - but as she had never seen him before. _Knowing _the truth of his nature and supposed divinity was a far cry from truly _comprehending _it; but now, as he radiated divine energy, both the half-wild flare of his own power and the radiance of the All-Mother Mythal, Fenlamea understood in a way that _humbled _her. And now she was one of them; not simply a compatriot but an _equal, _a - _a goddess._

It ended without warning. A violent _crack, _a shriek of swarming spirits, and then a moment of… silence. Or perhaps she had simply been deafened by the sensory overload of ripping down the veil and bringing the Fade back into the world, where it was meant to be, all along. She would never be entirely sure on that count.

A strangled cry was torn from Fen'harel. She watched as he lurched forward, back arching and features twisting in agony as familiar magics converged and began to wind together before him.

A form took shape; small, high ears, dainty hands. It solidified, gained distinction, until a woman in new flesh stood before him. It reached out, pressing curled fingers against and then _into _his chest. Power swarmed from him, into the body. Fen'harel screamed. Mythal _laughed._

Once it was over he staggered back, gasping for air. Something in Fenlamea's chest tightened as he fell to one knee, but she hardened herself against him once again. This was all _his_ doing, and she would intervene only so far as had been promised.

"Fitting that I find you kneeling, as that is exactly where you belong, Wolf." A strong voice broke through the previous silence.

Abelas bent his head to Fenlamea's ear to whisper, "Elgar'nan."

For a moment terror spun wild over her; she was once a good, dutiful Dalish girl, after all. To stand before the All-Father, the Lord of Vengeance… but she forced lead into her blood and silverite into her bones. She had toppled one would be god and bedded another; she would not cower, not after all she had faced. Not now.

Bristling with power and lean as a whip cord, Elgar'nan strode forward. Fury radiated from his form, spilling out in fiery curls from his aura. His hand lashed out, found the recently grown hair atop Fen'harel's head, and drew it into a tight fist. "You _dog,_" he spat, "you worthless _cur _\- lock us away, _ruin_ the People - you will spend the rest of your miserable life on your knees, begging forgiveness you will _never receive_!"

"Emma lath," Mythal crooned, reaching out with soft hands. "'Ma vhen'an'ara. Atisha, 'ma lath. Hamin."

"Peace - be _still? _**He has ruined us all!**"

Fenlamea flinched back at the shout of unbridled rage, backing up until she bumped into Abelas' chest. His hand caught her hip, steadying her once again.

"Do not show them fear," he urged, squeezing. "Stand strong, or they will only ever remember you quelling before them."

It took a force of will that Fenlamea did not know she possessed to follow that advice.

"Mother, you cannot think to speak for him."

"Falon'din," Abelas supplied.

"I do, my son." Brushing silver hair away from her eyes, Mythal turned to face her children. She spread her hands, palms up, imploring. "Look past your anger. Do not let it ruin you. Fen'harel acted foolishly, but he acted in _good faith; _we were_ killing each other_, enslaving our own people. Without his actions, it is likely we would have eradicated ourselves entirely."

"Better we be dead than living in the dirt or slaves to _shems._"

A snide laughter curled through the air, making it taste sickened as Fenlamea breathed it in.

"Your perspective is so narrow, shepherd of the dead. Besides, if anyone should punish the Wolf, it should be me. I lost _all_ of my kin. I am the only one left. Your kind have stood in my way far too many times when I've tried to deal with this mongrel, as he _should _have been dealt with ages ago. Surely you would not deny me now."

Abelas leaned forward to whisper Anaris' name into Fenlamea's ear, a shudder racing up her spine at the name. She'd had enough of all of it.

"Perhaps if you'd set aside your bickering and thirst for vengeance ages ago, none of this would have happened in the first place," she finally spoke up.

The pantheon and last Forgotten One turned to her, a mixture of confusion and sneers greeting her. Mythal was the first to speak.

"Ah, wisdom from the mouth of babes." She smiled, holding her hand out to Fenlamea. "Come forth, young goddess; meet your kin."

She took a quick breath to brace herself, then took one step toward Mythal. A wash of auras swept over her, the pantheon and Anaris reaching out to taste her. The strength of their magic testing her nearly brought her to her knees, but she pressed back, gritting her teeth against the onslaught and holding her ground as she reached for Mythal's outstretched hand. She took another step, bringing her to Mythal's side as Mythal smiled in approval. Their auras receded reluctantly at the All-Mother's smile.

"Very good, my dear," Mythal murmured, "But you are not yet finished. Remember what must be done."

Fenlamea nodded, turning to face the others. "I am not sure how much you are aware of in regards to what's happened in this world during your absence, but much has changed. I would see it restored to its former glory, but many things will have to be accounted for. Adjustments will be necessary, for everyone. It will-"

"Who is this pretty young thing, so brimming with power, Mythal? You seem to know her quite well," Anaris interrupted, a lecherous grin forming on his blue lips.

Mythal smiled and pressed her hand to Fenlamea's lower back gently, sweeping her other hand out to encompass the others in the room.

"She is the newest member of our little family, of course, as well as a woman of immense power and standing in this world. She can guide us into this new age and herald our arrival. She is the key to this world's salvation."

Every eye in the room narrowed on her. She suppressed the inclination to squirm, barely; knowing that any sign of weakness would not be looked on favorably. She knew they could each read her aura as plainly as they could read the letters on a scroll, but she held strong in spite of it. She was the Inquisitor; the shem Herald, the bearer of a god's power, and now - a goddess in her own right. The reminder of that prompted her to flare her mark, drawing her foci from where it sat, dormant on the altar; to bring it soaring through the air and into her hand, now alight with power that sang into the air.

"She has formed her own foci? No, remade Fen'harel's. But it is hers now. Fascinating. Perhaps the All-Mother is correct, then."

Fenlamea looked at the source of the new voice, a tall, strong elvhen who looked like he could break her in two, with little more effort than it took her to break a twig. His skin was darkened and thick, looking as if he'd spent his long life toiling with his large hands. His voice was deep and rich, sounding gentle now, but she was certain it could be heard over any other noise in the room, were he to raise it. There was no doubt; among those present, he was the only one that could be June, the master of crafts.

A thin figure that had remained silent the entire time stepped forward, as if unsheathing himself from the folds of shadow. He came to stand before her, head tilted, regarding her curiously. He reached out his hand to her free one, palm up, offering. Fenlamea looked at Mythal, eyebrow raised. Mythal nodded, smiling. Fenlamea lifted her right hand and gingerly placed it in what she could only assume was Dirthamen's.

Her world went blank. She could not see, hear, or feel. She couldn't even draw breath to smell. Slowly, shadows of whispers came to her, thoughts and sounds she couldn't make out. It almost reminded her of something familiar, but she couldn't remember what it was. Nothing existed, nothing dreamed or breathed.

Then, it all came rushing back.

She gasped for air, eyes flying open to see the elvhen still standing before her, hand withdrawn, a tiny smile on his face. He bobbed his head in a respectful bow of gratitude, then retreated without a sound to return to his place beside his brother.

"What have you learned, brother?" asked Falon'din.

A thin voice that was almost a whisper, but could be clearly heard from her position replied, "Mother speaks the truth of our new sister. More than that, I will not say without my due."

"I will share a secret for more," June offered, holding his hand out eagerly toward Dirthamen, who accepted his offering gladly.

A moment passed, and June too gasped for breath when Dirthamen retreated. At least she wasn't the only one so strongly affected by Dirthamen's... talents. She almost smiled at the thought.

Dirthamen spoke once more. "She requests payment for her service at our sides. Fen'harel's life is her price."

Once again, all eyes were on her, though they were not as unkind as she had presumed they might have been. Elgar'nan asked the obvious question.

"Why would you wish to spare him? You would have a place at our sides regardless; why ask this price of us? It is too a high price to pay."

"Not as high as you imagine." She shook her head. "I do not wish to spare him all punishment, but vengeance would be better served if he were actually alive and made to endure the consequences of his hubris, would it not? Death would only release him from those consequences. I have another price in mind for his treachery."

"Do you, now?" Mythal raised an eyebrow. "Tell us, then. What price would you have our Wolf pay for his crimes?"

Fenlamea took a breath and exhaled, sweeping her gaze over the faces of the gods surrounding her as she steeled herself to deliver her plan.

"What is his favorite trick to play?" She began, "What is the one thing he can boast that none others, especially in this age, can?"

She paused, waiting to see if any of them would supply the answer. Dirthamen smiled, but stayed silent. The others looked to each other, slight confusion in their auras.

Falon'din looked to his brother. "What is it, brother? You must know what it is."

Dirthamen chuckled. "Why should I speak," he answered, gesturing to Fenlamea, "when she is willing to give the answer herself?"

All eyes looked once more to her, as Falon'din asked her, "Well? What is it?"

She smirked. "Dreams."

A hush came over them as their shining eyes widened, surprise flaring in their auras. Mythal seemed to recover more quickly than the rest, as she crossed her arms and nodded.

"It is indeed his most treasured ability; the control of not only his dreams, but the dreams of others. However, to remove his ability to do so would leave a gap in our strength. One of us would need to fill that gap."

"Who?" Elgar'nan scoffed. "We will all be taxed to capacity with three of our number dead. At least until we find worthy replacements."

"Ha!" Mythal laughed. "'Ma sa'lath, who in this room is as clever and as much of a trickster as the Wolf himself? Look around you, search the auras of those you see, and tell me."

Fenlamea raised an eyebrow at Mythal, who gave a subtle shake of her head, her lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

She felt the mana of several in the room stealing over their compatriots, even over Mythal herself. Then, she felt one of tempered fire and curiosity flit over hers. Elgar'nan gasped.

"You would have _her _replace the Wolf as our spy? She has no experience! And what of her other duties? What of her guiding us, as you claimed?"

"What better soul to guide us than one who knows the minds of those we seek to save?" Mythal smiled. "She has led this world from the brink of destruction once already; I have no doubt that she could do it again. And you saw it yourself, 'ma lath: she has the heart of a wolf. Unless you can think of a more fitting option than her, she is the logical choice in this matter.

"Indeed," she continued, turning to look back at Fen'harel's still kneeling form, then at Fenlamea to her side, "what could be more fitting than for the Wolf to give up the power he cherishes so dearly, to the woman he loves the most?"

Gasps fluttered across the room, though Dirthamen simply smiled. Falon'din stepped toward them.

"The Wolf loves her?" he asked, pointing at Fenlamea as if it was a crime to be loved, "Ha! Not possible. The Wolf has never been capable of loving anyone but himself. Surely you cannot believe his lies, mother. It is only another falsehood in an endless trail of deceptions."

Mythal tilted her head, a curious smirk on her face as she looked at her doubtful son.

"I have shared his mind, my son. He could hide nothing from me. She is his vhen'an. There has never been another."

Falon'din was about to speak, when his father interrupted him, striding forward and blocking his view as he sneered at Fenlamea.

"And what is to keep his vhen'an from stealing the Wolf's power and doing exactly what he did with it, betraying us all once more in vengeance for her vhen'an? Is she not just as much of a wolf as he is? What guarantee do we have that she will not seek vengeance for this punishment?"

"Perhaps you should ask your son for the answer to that, since you will not believe me." Fenlamea frowned, scoffing at him. "He knows my secrets better than anyone, does he not? I gave them to him; he can certainly tell this one, if it will soothe your mind."

He glared at her, anger flaring at first, but it soon calmed and he nodded.

"Very well. You speak the truth." He turned to his son. "Dirthamen, tell us."

Dirthamen smiled, his reedy voice raising gently to reach their ears.

"It is true that she is the Wolf's vhen'an, but he is not hers. He almost was, for a time; but his lies hardened her toward him. She no longer loves him. Though the strings of her heart still occasionally tug when he is near, she does not listen to them; not now, and never again. She has no desire to betray us. We need not fear such things from her. Other things, but not this."

"What other things, brother?" Falon'din asked.

"It is unlikely the events that would prelude them will occur, so long as we take precautions, brother." Dirthamen replied, "That is all you need know for now. It would be our error in judgment, not hers."

Elgar'nan spun, pointing his wrath at her along with his finger.

"You see? She would betray us if we do not follow her expectations of us! It is as I thought!"

"No, father," Dirthamen interjected, "you are incorrect. As usual, your temper has made assumptions for you that you cannot back up with facts. It is not a simple expectation that she would correct us for if we fell below it. It is a betrayal of our purpose, a sickness that she fears; the madness Andruil tried to bring upon us. We must find better ways to shield ourselves from this malady, to prevent the thought in her mind from ever passing into reality. She is wholly correct in this, in fact."

Elgar'nan lowered his finger, shame flooding his aura.

"Then I apologize for my haste, young one. It was unworthy of me. You were only considering our well-being. I had not thought-"

Mythal laid a hand on his arm. "All is well, 'ma lath. I doubt the girl will bear a grudge for so small a thing."

She looked at her son. "Thank you for explaining, Dirthamen."

"'Ma neral, mother." He nodded, a smile on his face. "But I am not finished. I have one more secret to impart."

"Then tell us, son. What is it?"

"Our new sister's name." Dirthamen looked at Fenlamea, giving her a warm smile. "She is called Fenlamea: voice of the Wolf's guardian. Though, she may of course choose a new name, should she wish to. In the meantime, I believe proper greetings are in order. Overdue, in fact."

He bowed, then straightened, laying his hand on his chest. "As you may have guessed, I am Dirthamen. Welcome, sister."

A chorus of introductions followed, the last going to Anaris, who did not bow, but did nod in deference. "I am Anaris, last of the Forgotten Ones, bringer of pestilence and spite. I greet you."

Fenlamea bowed to them all, then raised her hand, palm up in offering as she spoke, "May I introduce my compatriots? They are important to me, and they helped release each of you. It would not have been possible without them."

"If you must," Elgar'nan replied, "I am not particularly interested, but I will oblige."

Dirthamen laid a hand on his father's upper arm, being careful only to touch fabric and not skin.

"Father. Though one of them may be shem, they are each worthy of great honor. Please, treat them with the respect they are due."

Elgar'nan sighed, but nodded. "Ma nuvenin." He gestured to Fenlamea. "Very well, proceed."

"'Ma serannas, All-Father," she replied, dipping her head.

She turned, holding her hand out to Dorian, who had long since been standing by a pillar, leaning against it as he watched the show. He pushed off of it, walking to her and placing his hand in hers. She squeezed his in solidarity, turning to the pantheon.

"This is Dorian Pavus, 'ma da'isenatha. He is my brother, my comfort, my savior. If not for him, I would not still be alive. I owe him much; more than I can ever repay, no matter how many shem lifetimes I live."

There were mostly simple nods of acknowledgment from most of them, though Dirthamen added words and a smile to his actual bow, bending at the waist to show his appreciation.

"Serannasan ma, Dorian of House Pavus; you have performed a great service for my new sister. I will see you rewarded for it, soon."

"Sathem lasa halani, Dirthamen. I'm not certain whether to be looking forward to that, or dreading it; but thank you, regardless."

Dirthamen chuckled without malice, and said no more.

"You have nothing to fear from my son, Dorian." Mythal smiled as she looked at him. "His rewards are rare, but always kind, and are reserved for those who deserve them the most."

Dorian bowed to them both, in turn, before he responded, "Then I am sincerely grateful. Thank you."

Dirthamen bobbed his head and smiled.

Fenlamea squeezed his hand and grinned, nodding toward the pillar he'd occupied before she'd beckoned him over. He squeezed her hand and nodded in return, walking back to the pillar to wait.

She looked around for Cole, but didn't see him. "I seem to be missing someone."

Mythal tilted her head at her. "Who is it, little wolf?"

The tips of Fenlamea's ears went red at Mythal calling her that, but she brushed off her embarrassment. "There was a spirit here, Compassion, though he goes by-"

"Cole." He appeared at her side, making her jump. "I am here."

She chuckled and laid her hand on his shoulder. "You're never going to stop doing that, are you?"

He grinned, apparently quite happy with himself. "Probably not." He looked around the room, smiling at the pantheon, even at Anaris. "Hello, I'm Cole. I already know who you are."

Dirthamen laughed in joyful surprise, moving softly to stand before Cole; his palm up in a gentle offer, head tilted curiously. Cole nodded, placing a finger against Dirthamen's wrist. Moments later, a grin split Dirthamen's face.

"Ahh, lethallen, I had wondered where you'd run off to. It is good to see you."

"You, too." Cole grinned. "I am glad to have you back."

Fenlamea looked between them, noting that their auras seemed incredibly... in tune. "Am... I missing something?"

"Your Dalish have a tale of my ravens, yes?" Dirthamen smirked. "Fear and Deceit. When I subdued them, they became Compassion and Truth. I do not know if Truth still lives, but Compassion is your companion, and he has done his duty far better than I could've hoped. 'Ma serannas for reuniting us."

She blinked, looking at Cole, then back to Dirthamen. "I… 'ma neral, I think?"

Dirthamen and Cole both chuckled, sounding nearly identical.

Cole spoke up, "She'll ask me about it later."

Dirthamen smiled, nodding to both of them as he turned and moved back to his place. Cole smiled and disappeared, leaving small tendrils of magic in his wake that faded softly into thin air.

"Well." Fenlamea hesitated, still reeling a bit. Shaking herself, she moved on, for the moment.

"Right, last, but not least; I'd like to introduce someone at least one of you already knows." She looked back at Abelas, smiling and waving him forward.

"This is-"

Mythal interrupted her with a laugh. "Oh my dear girl, they know who Abelas is."

"Well, I thought they might." Fenlamea flushed. "But still, he is my hah'ren. I felt it appropriate to introduce him regardless."

"Was he not my mother's slave?" Falon'din laughed. "How can a slave be a hah'ren?"

Fenlamea growled, but Mythal intervened. "My son, I set Abelas to this task. Are you doubting my wisdom in this?"

"I… no, of course not, mother. Ir abelas, I did not know." Falon'din bowed, stilling into silence.

Mythal raised an eyebrow at her son, then turned to Fenlamea and dipped her head in a small bow. "I assume he has performed his task admirably, then; if you consider him your hah'ren? Do you believe him worthy of reward for his services?"

"I do." Fenlamea nodded, her voice sincere. "He has been a great boon to me. I thank you for allowing it."

"I didn't just allow it, I encouraged it, my dear girl." Mythal laughed. "He needed a new purpose, and you were gracious enough to provide it. If you believe he is worthy of a reward, he shall receive it, in due time."

"For now," Mythal continued, "we should look to the punishment of the Dread Wolf. We shall have a vote, to determine his fate. As our newest member, Fenlamea's vote will count as much as ours."

She looked at her kin, raising her hand as she spoke, "All in favor of giving the Wolf's power over dreams to Fenlamea, raise your hands."

All but Anaris and Falon'din raised their hands.

Mythal nodded. "Then it shall be done. I will carry out the sentence. Who will bear witness that the sentence has been served?"

"I will." Elgar'nan stepped forward, placing himself opposite of Mythal between Fen'harel and Fenlamea.

Mythal nodded in acceptance. "Very well."


	7. Chapter 7

Translations:

Na en'an'sal: You are a gift/blessing.

Myathash'ar: I am honored.

Lanalin: mother

Lenalin: father

Ashalan: daughter

* * *

Abelas watched as Mythal placed her hands on Fen'harel and Fenlamea. She looked to Fen'harel as she spoke, "I am sorry, old friend. But better it be this, than your life."

Fen'harel looked up for the first time since the gods were released, a sorrowful smile shining on his tear-stained lips. "I am grateful that my power will be passed to her. She is the only one worthy of it. 'Ma vhen'an will use it more wisely than I ever have."

Mythal smiled, nodding gently and turning to Fenlamea. "Are you ready, dear girl? This power has only been held by one other; you will have a difficult time adjusting to it. I suggest listening to my priests, as well as Fen'harel and your hah'ren, as you learn how to control it. And you may wish to find a safe place for your foci until this is done."

Fenlamea secured her foci back into the side of her pack, then bowed her head. "'Ma serannas, All-Mother; I shall do my best to learn what I must."

"Come now child of mine," Mythal chortled, "I appreciate your good manners, as I always have; but you are one of us now." She leaned in to murmur softly enough that only those very near to her would hear, "You may refer to me as Mythal, or mother; if you are willing. You are my children's sister now. It will take time to adjust, I know; but do hurry if you can, my dear girl. The more quickly they accept you, the easier this will be for all of us."

He saw Mythal squeeze Fenlamea's shoulder comfortingly. Mythal's favor of her was clear, and her advice would be a great boon to Fenlamea, if she heeded it. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, quickly hidden.

He did not wish to catch Dirthamen's eye. He may be enamored with Fenlamea for the moment, but his brother obviously was not. If there was one thing that could be said about the twin souls of the pantheon, it was that they did not often disagree; Falon'din was sure to have words with his brother soon, regarding their dear new sister. The outcome of that conversation could be anything from a plot on her life, to welcoming her with open arms. None would truly know the answer until it presented itself, one way or another. He and Fenlamea both must be on their guard, until such things were certainties.

That June seemed impressed by her was excellent. She would need him on her side; he was often a stabilizing factor amongst the pantheon, and well loved by all of them. He crafted their favorite trinkets and foci - for those who needed such things - after all.

She had even passed the test of Elgar'nan's fury and intimidation- a feat which had no doubt raised her status considerably in the eyes of all present; especially Elgar'nan's. Their alliance was still very fresh, but he sided with her, for now.

It was unlikely she would ever gain Anaris' appreciation, but stranger things had happened. Not that it necessarily mattered whether he approved of her or not; but she would not wish to make an enemy of him. Surprisingly, considering the Forgotten One's desire to see the Dread Wolf dead, he did not seem overly displeased with his punishment; despite his abstinence from the vote. Perhaps he was satisfied. Or - and this was the more likely scenario - he simply wished to bide his time until the Wolf was weak enough to easily strike him down. Either way, he was one to watch - carefully.

While these observations trickled through his mind, Mythal had turned to Fen'harel, and was murmuring to him as she had to Fenlamea. He could not hear what was said, but soon enough, Mythal stood straight and tall between them. She looked to Elgar'nan and nodded, then began to carry out the Wolf's sentence.

The green spark of his gift was shocked to life within the Wolf, jolting him with a gasp from his lips into a stunned, trance-like state, as the magic was forcibly awakened and called forth. His upper body swayed gently as if all energy had been drained from him; then suddenly, his back arched, arms falling limply behind him as a shining emerald sphere of pure energy erupted from his chest. Fen'harel collapsed as his strength left him. Abelas looked on as Mythal guided Fen'harel's gift to hover in front of Fenlamea. Mythal gave her a look that clearly asked if she was ready. Fenlamea nodded. Mythal took a breath, then pushed the orb into Fenlamea's chest as gently as she could.

What happened then was anything but gentle.

Fenlamea's back bowed, a mirror to what he had witnessed when she accepted the Well's instructions and claimed her immortality, but the scene before him quickly diverged from his memory into something far more volatile. The unconstrained power he had felt at her awakening was dwarfed in an instant by the sheer impact of her magic, as it exploded outward, knocking every one of them back a few steps.

As they all recovered, Abelas looked to her kneeling form, seeing her shoulders rise and fall quickly with her harried breaths. He recognized what was happening instantly.

He moved to her with haste, kneeling in front of her and laying his hands gently over hers, which were tightly balled into fists on the floor before her. When she looked up, the colors of the sea at sunset he was so used to seeing in her eyes were fiercely overshadowed by the crackling, slowly fading magic she had just absorbed. He could feel it festering beneath her skin, rebelling against its new host. But he could also feel her fighting it down, trying to master it; making it her own. Her teeth were bared in a feral grimace, the struggle and pain etched into her face like a canvas of controlled agony. Her anchor threatened to burn through her hand and his as it flared with the added power of its source within her. He grit his teeth against the pain, knowing it must be worse for her.

He felt Mythal draw near, kneeling down beside them and speaking lowly to Fenlamea. "Conquer it, my dear daughter; I would not have given it to you if I didn't think you could control it. I know you can do this."

She gave Fenlamea a tight smile, then nodded pointedly at Abelas when he looked at her. He bowed his head in acknowledgment as she left to tend to Fen'harel. He devoted his attention to Fenlamea, whose jaw was clenched in a concentrated effort to regain her control. A tear rolled down her cheek as she locked her gaze on him, a plea for his help that she dare not voice clear in her eyes. He subtly draped his mana over her like a blanket, soothing, but not restricting. She gasped for breath, relief on her face as her eyes drifted closed for but a moment of respite, before they opened again.

She smiled her thanks at him, brushing her own mana against his in gratitude as her eyes slowly began to return to their new natural state. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her skin, despite the cold; a clear indication of how much stress her body had and still was enduring. Her breaths were still labored, but had slowed enough for her to speak. When she finally did, it was for his ears alone.

"'Ma serannas, lethallin; na en'an'sal." She pressed her brow to his for a few seconds in her gratitude.

He gave a tiny huff of a laugh in relief, nodding his acceptance of her thanks as she leaned back. "Ara melava son'ganem, Fenlamea. Myathash'ar."

Finally, the magic's light subsided from her eyes, her own natural color glowing softly as it should and reflecting the sparse light in the temple. Her eyelids closed with a sigh of release. She opened them after a moment, nodding with a quiet smile.

"I... think I'm alright- for now. I should probably get up before one of them decides I'm too weak and kills me," she murmured with a small, tired snort.

He nodded, a shadow of a smirk gracing his lips. "That is likely wise."

He lifted his hands from hers and offered to help her up. She smiled in appreciation, but shook her head. He nodded, realizing she was right; as much as he wanted to help her, she needed to show them that she was strong on her own. He still stood ready to catch her if she did falter. She did not. Though he knew she was harrowed by her experience, she stood strong in the face of those gathered.

It wasn't until then that he looked away from her, noticing that Dorian was standing close by with his eyes trained apprehensively on Fenlamea. He was joined by Cole, who stood a short distance behind her, picking at his hand wraps as he worried over her, keeping his gaze lowered to somewhere near her feet. Mythal knelt by Fen'harel, who was still unconscious and weakly propped against the alter, recovering. The rest of the deities in the room were quietly conversing, and watching Fenlamea with interest.

He heard her draw in a deep, steadying breath. Then, she took her first step into her role amongst the Pantheon, with him at her side. It was June that spoke first, his voice kind and caring.

"Are you alright, sister? Have you won the battle for control?"

"I believe so." She nodded, smiling. "It took a moment longer than I liked, but it seems all is well, brother. 'Ma serannas for your concern."

Falon'din interjected with a jovial scoff before June could respond, "Nonsense. If June didn't show concern, he wouldn't be June."

His joviality faded slightly as he continued. "I am... gratified to see you recover." He paused, then seemed to remember himself, giving a half bow to her. "Sister."

June narrowed his eyes at Falon'din, but looked back to Fenlamea rather than responding to him.

"De da'rahn, sister. I am glad to see you well. Speak to me, when you have a moment; I wish to help you cleanse your new foci."

Surprise lit upon her face, followed by a pleased smile. "I would be most grateful for any help you can provide, brother."

She tilted her head, regarding Falon'din with a sly, but guarded smile. "Falon'din?"

He raised an eyebrow of curious interest. "Yes, sister?"

"I should like to speak to you later, brother." She straightened her head and gave him a warm smile. "Perhaps after things have settled down a bit."

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. "Certainly, sister. I shall make time before I tend to my duties. But please don't keep me waiting too long, there is quite the glut of souls awaiting my special attention."

She nodded her head in a tiny bow, still smiling. "Of course, dear brother. I would not wish to keep the dead waiting."

Abelas fought to keep the wondered amusement in his mind from surfacing. It amazed him that she could so directly corral what could potentially be her greatest opponent among the pantheon into a cordial meeting, so quickly and seemingly effortlessly after her recovery. Little wolf, indeed. He could think of none better suited for the role she had been given. If she remained strong, she may even make a mockery of what the Dread Wolf had accomplished with that same power. But she would need to use great caution when dealing with Falon'din. Abelas knew alliances within the pantheon shifted like the sands on a seashore; one wrong move could bring down enough destruction and rage to rival all of the blights, at once. He needed to prepare and advise her as much as he was able.

Fenlamea gave a quiet smile to Dirthamen, which he returned, before she moved to the other side of the altar, where Mythal knelt and Elgar'nan stood on either side of Fen'harel. Much had been taken from him. While he still held significant power, he was far from the near-deity he had been. He still held his magic and his wolf, though whether it could be called dreaded, now that he could not manipulate and terrorize the dreams of those who dreaded him, was a matter for debate. He would have to find new purpose amongst the pantheon, and for the moment, his future was uncertain.

Fenlamea's steps came to rest at the feet of Fen'harel, standing over him with her arms crossed, observing him with keen eyes. When Mythal looked up at her with a grim smile, Fenlamea nodded toward him.

"What will happen with him now?" she asked, looking back to Mythal.

"For now, he will recover from his ordeal and rest." Mythal sighed, looking down at him with a shake of her head. "Once he is rested, he will be tasked with serving as one of your guides in your new place among us, until you become competent enough that you no longer need his guidance. After that, we shall see. It may be that he can fill a role of some sort; he does still have enough strength to remain amongst our pantheon, if barely. We can ill afford to waste what potential he has left."

Mythal looked up and grasped her new daughter's hand gently, smiling. "Perhaps he can make himself useful to you in some aspect, my dear daughter; as penance for the heartache he caused you. If you desire such a thing, that is. There are several in this temple who would tear him apart for locking them away, but I know how he wronged you, Fenlamea. If you chose to have him serve as a tool for your use, it would be understood."

Fenlamea hummed uncertainly. "Not by all, mother. And I am not certain I would want his help. Perhaps... but, I cannot decide now. It would be better to see what this new era brings. I may find a use for him, but I admit, I am reluctant to do so. I do not trust him."

"I understand, dear girl." Mythal nodded, patting her daughters hand. "Think on it. We all have time now to consider a great many things. As you said, adjustments must be made as we proceed. It is likely the world outside this temple is in a state of panicked chaos. Once Fen'harel wakes, we should tend to our new world as best and as swiftly as we are able. You have control of Tarasyl'an Te'las. Perhaps we should retreat to your fortress and prepare."

Abelas' gaze slid to Falon'din, who seemed deep in conversation with Dirthamen, then to Anaris, who was chatting with a wisp; likely gathering information of the outside world that would be useful to have. He was doubtful Anaris would share. He knelt facing Mythal and bowed his head.

"My Mistress, I have concerns that must be left unspoken."

Mythal let Fenlamea's hand go and touched her fingers to her former Sentinel's temple, searching his thoughts. He concentrated on his worry over Falon'din and Anaris. She nodded as she pulled her hand away.

"I understand. Anaris is his own creature; I can do little on that front, but I will speak to my sons."

She turned to look between her two standing family members. "'Ma vhen'an, da'fen; please keep watch over Fen'harel. I will return shortly."

A pair of nodding heads confirmed her request would be satisfied, so she stood and went to her sons quickly. Abelas watched as she went first to Dirthamen, offering her hand. He took it eagerly, grasping at the chance to learn what his mother wished him to know. Seconds passed, and it was done. He nodded to her, and they both turned to Falon'din, who gave a confused look to the both of them. Dirthamen snatched his hand and Mythal laid hers on Falon'din's forehead, both searching him for answers and hints of duplicity, or schemes of violence. It was over quickly, and though Falon'din was outraged, the truth would now be known.

"Am I to receive the same treatment?" Anaris demanded, "Are we all under suspicion, or just the shepherd of the dead?"

"You may go back to the void any time you choose, Anaris," replied Dirthamen, "I am surprised you have not gone already. Have you forgotten how? Or do you yet linger for some nefarious purpose of your own?"

"Well!" Anaris cried in outrage, "_Pardon me_ if I wish to enjoy a few moments outside of the prison I've been held in for the past _millennia_! I did not realize it was such a _crime _to be free! If that is how you all feel, then fine! I _will_ go to the void."

Before anyone could say anything in response, he drew a dark glyph on the floor and stepped on it, vanishing without a sound. The wretched scent of rotting corpses remained for a time, but soon cleared.

Shaking her head, Mythal returned to Fen'harel's side, kneeling and touching his mind briefly. When she finished, she sighed and looked at those surrounding her.

"He will wake soon. Do not concern yourself over my son, Abelas. He may not particularly care for his new sibling; but he will learn, or he will be punished. It is as simple as that. We cannot behave as we once did. We must all realize this. It is a new world, and if we must rebuild ourselves to properly guide it, we shall. My daughter, if you could arrange travel for us, I would be most grateful. Take Abelas and your little dragon with you to help. We will wait here, and I will begin preparing our kin for facing this world."

Fenlamea nodded. "Ma nuvenin, lanalin." She rose and dipped her head in respect to Elgar'nan. "Lenalin."

Elgar'nan gave a small nod, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smile. Abelas spared a quick glance at the All-Father's aura, finding it lightly tinged with pleased affection for his - now only - daughter. He had always been less harsh with his daughters than his sons; they were amongst the few elvhen he could be manipulated by, aside from Mythal herself. If he was already beginning to enjoy her presence, it bode extremely well for her future.

She rounded the altar and beckoned Dorian over to her. "Garas, da'isenatha. We must make way for my kin."

He nodded. "Is Cole coming?"

She chuckled. "If our lethallen wished to come, I doubt anything could stop him from joining us now. He'll likely meet us back at Skyhold."

Dorian's head tilted in a shrug. "I suppose that's true. So how exactly are we going to 'make way' for the pantheon?"

"I will show you, once we are outside of the temple," Abelas answered. He would need to teach Fenlamea a great many things, now that the veil was no longer an obstacle. They made their way to the entrance, stepping into the light of day and shielding their eyes from the brightness. Abelas' heart sang as the sight of a world with its magic restored met his gaze. Evidence of magic was everywhere, in every rock and crevice, in the swirling clouds above them, flowing through the land and renewing it with a deft touch. He took a deep breath of the icy air surrounding them, letting it out slowly as his eyes drifted closed in bliss.

Soft exclamations of wonderment left the lips of the two following him as they stepped out, their eyes wide in shock as he turned to look at them.

Fenlamea was the first to recover, seeking him with a questioning gaze. "This is what it looked like before the veil?"

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. This is the way the world should be, unbound and open, full of potential. I am happy that I lived to see it again, and that I am able to watch you witness it for the first time."

"Kaffas, it's all _alive_! I can feel the earth breathing! Is it supposed to do that?" Dorian gave him a worried look.

Abelas chuckled, nodding. "Yes, falon. You would feel it most strongly as the weight of every soul Falon'din has not yet had a chance to lay to rest. That weight will lessen, over time. For now, be careful how hard you pull at the souls under your command. If you manage not to bind them, Falon'din will respect your need for them, instead of taking them from you for being too greedy."

Dorian's lip curled in distaste. "I'll bear that in mind. 'Ma serannas for the warning."

"Da'rahn, falon. We will need to warn the other dinathe'dirthelan of this age as well. In the meantime, we need to secure mounts for the pantheon. I will demonstrate how it is done, then you may both assist me, if you are willing."

"Of course, hah'ren," Fenlamea gave her assent.

"Naturally," Dorian acquiesced.

Abelas nodded and turned from them, holding his hands before him to begin casting. It had been many ages since he'd cast the spell, but it came to him easily, flowing and free, as if it had been only yesterday. A spectral hart slowly coalesced before him, veilfire flowing from its eyes. It took one look at Abelas, then lowered its head and pawed the ground with its hoof, shaking its head gently and going still. A successful summoning.

He turned to his fellows, looking at both of them in turn. "Do I need to demonstrate again, or was that sufficient?"

"It's a modified version of the spell I use to summon the dead. I'll certainly give it a go. Falon'din won't be angry if I accidentally summon a soul, will he?" He raised an eyebrow of worry at Abelas.

Abelas smirked. "No. If you do somehow manage to summon a soul in the form of a mount, it will likely please his… unique sensibilities, however."

Dorian's brow creased in a frown. "Worrying. Oh well, here goes nothing!"

While Dorian casted, Abelas turned to Fenlamea. "Do you wish to try?"

She took a breath, letting it out as she nodded. "May as well. I'm not used to summoning things, but I can try. Show me the motions again?"

He ran through the mnemonic for her, as she watched him with a studiously sharp gaze. She nodded, trying the motion herself without magic, looking to him for confirmation. He bowed his head in confirmation. "Now try it with mana. It is spirit magic, not something you're overly practiced with, but it can be done by any mage."

She nodded and began to cast, the spell failing halfway through. She sighed and tried again, but before she finished, a loud whinny from behind Abelas distracted them both. He turned to see the dreadsteed Dorian had managed to summon, which reared onto its hind legs and cried out in fiery rage. When it fell back to all fours, it stomped its hooves fiercely, huffing heated air through its nostrils as it glared at Dorian.

Abelas reached a calming hand out to Dorian. "Stand up to it, do not show it fear, falon. You've summoned it, but now you must master it."

Dorian nodded, squaring his shoulders and gazing into the steed's black eyes resolutely as it came to stand before him in challenge. After a few moments, it shook its head, then bowed in defeat.

"Well, that's definitely a spirit, and not a soul, at least." Dorian smiled. "I suppose I got it right, then."

Abelas nodded approvingly. "You did very well. It will serve you until it is sent away. Be careful not to keep them summoned for too long. Spirits do not mind being used for such a purpose for a while, but will become restless and dangerous if bound for too much time."

"What exactly is 'too long'?" Dorian asked, "A day? A week?"

Abelas chuckled as he summoned a second hart and tamed it. "Too long is keeping it summoned past its immediate intended purpose. When you would stable a normal mount, or tie it up for the night, is an appropriate time to release a summoned mount. You can always summon another spirit for your use when it is needed again."

Dorian bobbed his head in understanding. "That is imminently sensible, actually. Good to know."

They both turned to look at Fenlamea, who took a breath and began her efforts to summon a mount once more. Her face was a mask of concentration, her aura flaring brightly with determination as she went through the motions, flaring her mana as her anchor sputtered and sparked. A brilliant light flashed as she finished casting, their eyes quickly adjusting to behold what she'd summoned.

A massive pure white wolf with six glowing sea colored eyes stood before her, ears flattened against its skull, teeth bared menacingly. It growled and stalked up to her cautiously. She growled back at it, staring it down stubbornly. Its ears flicked up in surprise, lips covering its teeth as it relaxed its posture, leaning down to nuzzle her stomach gently. She held her hand out to it, letting it sniff her, then smoothed her hand over its face gently.

"Remarkable." Abelas wondered at the sight, smiling at Fenlamea. "I have not seen anyone with the ability to summon a wolf, besides Fen'harel himself. You truly are a wolf."

She snickered and scratched behind the wolf's ear, while it happily leaned into the attention. "I love it. This is the first mount I've seen that I may actually want to ride, instead of Nopalina."

Abelas shrugged. "It may allow you to keep it summoned. To be chosen to serve a goddess would be an honor for it. I can ask it for you, if you wish."

She tore her eyes away from the wolf to give him her concerned regard. "It wouldn't become dangerous, if I kept it longer than I'm supposed to?"

Abelas shook his head. "It is different for gods. If you chose to have this spirit serve you, it would have to agree to the service, but you would be able to keep it indefinitely, if it agreed to servitude. I have never seen a spirit turn down the honor."

She turned her worried face back to the wolf, shaking her head. "I don't want to enslave it. I won't ask that of it. It should be free to choose what it wishes to do."

The wolf perked up, leveling her with a stare of apparent curiosity. Its form shifted, twisting in on itself to create the shape of an elvhen woman, white hair falling softly over her dark shoulders. She bowed deeply at the waist, smiling as she straightened and spoke, her voice sweet and melodious.

"You honor me, young goddess. I am Cunning. Your offer of freedom is beautiful, but if I am free to choose, I would rather serve, in whatever capacity you prefer." Cunning bowed again, falling silent with a kind smile.

Fenlamea pursed her lips as she observed Cunning, crossing her arms loosely with a hand lifted over her chin, rubbing her fingers together in thought. She tilted her head as she let her arms fall to her sides, pointing her chin at Cunning.

"What reward do you seek for staying with me? If this is to be a partnership, you should get something out of it, yes?"

Cunning smirked, tilting her head in a mirror of Fenlamea as she replied, "Is it not enough of a reward to be by your side, oh newest goddess to grace the pantheon's number? I seek no boon greater than the chance to witness the harbinger of this new age bring about the changes this world so desperately needs. I can be a protector, an advisor, a companion. I will never interfere with your wishes, and I will carry out your orders gladly, so long as they do not turn me from my purpose."

Fenlamea narrowed her eyes and straightened, folding her hands behind her back. "I already have someone that fulfills all of those needs." She nodded at Abelas. "Tell me why I would need another."

Cunning chuckled. "It is always good to have more than one ally, is it not? I could serve as your messenger to other nations, or to your troops. I could rally other spirits to your cause. You already have Compassion, but he will no doubt be busy with the Whisperer of Secrets soon. I can be where he is not, if you wish."

Fenlamea sighed, tilting her head back as she looked at Cunning thoughtfully. "Let's say I agree to this; will you warn me if an order I give would pollute your purpose? I have no desire to change or twist you into something you are not."

Cunning gave a small bow, her expression one of sincere appreciation. "I will warn you, and I thank you for the consideration. You show wisdom with your request; a wisdom I will gladly honor."

Fenlamea peeked sideways at Abelas, her eyebrow raised in question. "Thoughts?"

He gestured to the spirit. "Cunning's offer seems genuine. It is indeed a spirit, uncorrupted, so it likely has no ulterior motive, as a demon would-"

Cunning scoffed, her aura flaring with indignation as she interrupted him. "Demon?! I am nothing like those malcontents! I am already free of the veil, what possible motive would I have for possessing anyone? Is it so much to ask that I am allowed to watch the formation of a new world first-hand? That I am allowed to choose my destiny, to choose my company? I choose this young goddess to serve, whether you approve of it or not."

He raised an eyebrow at the spirit's outburst. "I did not say I disapproved, Cunning."

Cunning's aura calmed, and she nodded. "Very well. So long as we understand each other." She shifted her view back to Fenlamea, smiling slightly. "What do you say, goddess? I agree to keep you informed if you begin to twist my purpose, and you allow me to stay at your side? It is a more than equitable arrangement."

Fenlamea paused, contemplating the spirit. After a few moments, she nodded. "Alright, I accept your offer. Be sure to keep up your end of the bargain to warn me."

Cunning grinned happily. "Of course! You will need to bind me, naturally; we cannot have anyone else attempting to corrupt me, after all."

Fenlamea's eyebrows shot upwards. "_Bind_ you?! What happened to your freedom to choose? No, no, you are _not_ my slave, Cunning."

Abelas stepped in before Cunning could respond. "Cunning speaks the truth, Fenlamea. It could be corrupted by another if it is not bound to you. It can still choose within the limits of that binding, if it is done properly."

Fenlamea's brow creased in confusion at him. "But… I don't understand. When Cole wanted Fen'harel to bind him so he wouldn't turn into a demon, Fen'harel refused, because he didn't want to take away Cole's free will. How is that any different than this?"

He smiled, gesturing to their surroundings vaguely. "The veil is gone now. It is a vastly different spell that Cunning speaks of. What was available to Fen'harel at the time, required brute force blood magics; this is nothing like that. Cunning is requesting that you bind it to you as a familiar, not a mindless slave."

"A familiar?" She quirked her head. "What is that?"

"Remember the tales of the Emerald Knights and their wolf companions?"

She nodded. "Of course. Are you saying they bound their wolves as whatever this 'familiar' thing is?"

"No, but it is a similar concept. Like a mabari that bonds with and cleaves to one owner for their entire life, only loyal to that one person. Except in this case, it is a spirit who has chosen to bond to you. Dirthamen had the same opportunity with his ravens. Though they were demons at the time, he purified them and bound them as his familiars. It is a rare gift, an honor to actually be chosen for such a match. It can show you how to do it, or I can, if you prefer."

She looked back to Cunning, uncertainty written clearly across her face. She tilted her head, sighing as she took a step toward the spirit. "This is what you're offering me?"

Cunning nodded. "It is, if you will have it. I do not offer it lightly, young goddess. But I am willing, if you are."

"It seems a rather big decision to make, especially so soon after our first meeting."

Cunning laughed. "Oh, young goddess, I have known you for many years. I have watched you from beyond the veil, seen your choices, known your pains and joys. I have watched you grow from the young girl scampering about the ara'vels of her clan, to the goddess you are today. I know you best out of anyone, save yourself. How could I not watch over a woman who so clearly reflected my purpose in her every step?"

Fenlamea gaped at the spirit, at a loss for words. Abelas was just as surprised, but kept it off of his face. Cunning just smiled.

"You've been watching over my little wolf for that long?" Dorian spoke up.

Cunning nodded. "I have, Dorian of House Pavus. I thank you for helping her when I could not. It would have been a great shame to lose her after all that excellent progress."

Dorian gave a shocked little laugh. "Well, you're welcome. I could hardly leave someone I consider a sister to drown in her pain, though, could I?"

Cunning smiled sadly. "Most would have. You did not."

"Yes, well… _most_ are idiots."

Cunning laughed. "Too true." She looked back at Fenlamea, who had managed to close her mouth and school her features by that point. "So, what do you say, young goddess? Will you allow me to watch over you from beside you now, after all these years?"

Fenlamea looked to Abelas once more. He nodded encouragingly. She turned back to Cunning with a sigh, and bowed her head. "I will. Thank you for your dedication."

Cunning grinned widely. "It was my pleasure. Shall I show you how to bind me, or would you rather Sorrow teach you? I know you trust him more than I for the moment, so perhaps he should be the one to show you."

Abelas nodded his acquiescence. "That is considerate of you."

Cunning shrugged. "I want her to be happy, and she will be happier being able to trust the source of the spell."

Fenlamea nodded her agreement. "That is true." She smiled at Cunning. "You knowing that is a good indicator of how well you know me, however."

Cunning merely smirked.

Abelas chuckled and knelt down, tracing a glyph in the snow. As he finished, he pointed to it. "You will need to draw this on its palm, then on your own, infusing both with your mana. Then, you must meet the two glyphs together physically." He stood and demonstrated, laying his own palms flat against each other, fingers meeting. "I will add my mana as a witness to the binding, and the ritual will be complete."

"That's it?" Fenlamea seemed skeptical.

He nodded. "Yes. It is not an overly complex spell."

She looked down at the glyph, tracing it in the air a few times. She shrugged, nodding. "Alright, seems simple enough."

She faced Cunning and offered her hand to the spirit. Cunning smiled and placed her left hand in Fenlamea's right. Fenlamea glanced down at the glyph in the snow, then back at Cunning's hand, tracing the lines and curves in the spirit's palm, pouring her mana gently into the action. The glyph glowed softly as she finished it. Cunning slid her hand away and gestured for Fenlamea to repeat the procedure on her own palm.

Fenlamea glanced askance at Abelas. "Left or right palm? Or does it matter?"

"Right. Your left is already occupied."

She smirked, nodding. "Good point."

She drew the glyph on her right palm, then held it up to Cunning. Cunning placed her palm against Fenlamea's, and Abelas held their hands together with his own, surging his mana into the binding. A soft light shone from between their joined hands, then faded. He released them with a smile.

"You are now bound, Cunning. Congratulations on your new station."

Cunning grinned at him, lowering her hand to her side as she bowed. "Serannasan ma, Abelas. Myathash'ar."

Fenlamea raised an eyebrow at her. "So you _do_ speak elvish. I had wondered why you only spoke trade, earlier."

Cunning bowed her head. "Of course. You will not find a spirit who does not speak every language that has ever existed. How else would they speak to those without knowledge of a specific language?"

Fenlamea nodded, impressed. "That does make sense. So how does this work, exactly? If I need you to be a wolf again, how do I go about that?"

Cunning chuckled. "You ask me. Whatever you need, you ask. If it won't corrupt me, I'll do it. If it will, I'll tell you. Simple as that."

"Oh. Well, I'll do my best to be good to you, then. That sound fair?"

Cunning grinned joyously. "Delightfully so. Perhaps you might wish to inform your kin that you have suitable transportation ready for them? You will be riding me, I assume?"

"Ah, of course." Fenlamea shook herself slightly. "Yes, if that's alright with you. I've never ridden a wolf before, that should be interesting."

Cunning giggled and nodded, turning into a spin as she transformed into the wolf again, coming to a halt and licking Fenlamea's cheek with an amused huff.

Fenlamea blinked in surprise and laughed, petting Cunning's head before she turned, waving towards the…

"Shit." She sparked her anchor, yanking her foci from her bag as she looked to Abelas. "How do I use this to make the entrance visible, again?"

"That won't be necessary, ashalan." Elgar'nan said, his upper body appearing in thin air, through what must've been the temple's still hidden entrance.

Fenlamea sighed in relief, tucking her foci back into her pack. "'Ma serannas, lenalin. Is everyone ready to depart?"

Elgar'nan gave her a small smile, then nodded. "Yes, ashalan. The Wolf is finally recovered enough to-" He stops short, gaze locking on the wolf behind them.

"Did you summon that, ashalan?" He pointed at the wolf.

She looked at the wolf, then back at him, nodding. "Yes, lenalin."

"Impressive." He narrowed his eyes, looking between the wolf and Fenlamea. "It is bound to you? So quickly? Also impressive." He gave her a proud smile. "You are more talented than I gave you credit for, ashalan. I look forward to seeing what else you are capable of."

She smiled, flushing slightly as the All-Father's praise. "'Ma serannas, lenalin. But Abelas was the one who taught me, I just followed his instructions."

Elgar'nan raised an eyebrow, sparing a glance at Abelas before he returned his gaze to his daughter. "Surprisingly humble. Still, if you did not have great strength and wisdom, such a spirit would not have been drawn to you, and would certainly never offer its allegiance. That is no small thing, ashalan. I am beginning to understand what my vhen'an and the Wolf see in you."

Fenlamea smiled abashedly, a blush tinting her cheeks all the way to her ear tips. "Such high praise, lenalin!" She dipped her head in gratitude. "Myathash'ar."

Elgar'nan chuckled, allowing a small grin to spread over his face. "I will retrieve our kin. They should bear witness as well, and we must be on our way to Tarasyl'an Te'las."

She nodded. "Ma nuvenin, lenalin."

Elgar'nan dipped back inside with a smile, vanishing behind his son's spell.

Fenlamea turned to her companions with a sheepish smile. "That went surprisingly well."

Abelas chuckled. "Elgar'nan has always been fond of his daughters. You are his only daughter, for now. So long as you remain in his good graces, he will always support you."

"Nothing quite like having a god for a father." Dorian commented. "I'd make sure you stay on his good side, if I were you."

"Duly noted. For now, however, I think I need to concentrate on one particular member of my new family."

Abelas nodded. "Agreed. We should speak privately, before you meet with him."

"Ma nuvenin, hah'ren. I will gladly listen to any advice you have for me."

Before he could formulate a reply to that, Fen'harel emerged from his temple, Mythal supporting him on his right side. His eyes cast about in a listless manner, until they locked onto Cunning.

He chuckled. "I was wondering when you would show up. You've been watching her for far too long to waste any more time now."

Cunning nudged Fenlamea and whimpered, nodding towards Fen'harel. Fenlamea seemed to understand, and nodded her permission. Cunning went to Fen'harel, bowing her head gently.

Fen'harel smiled. "Do not worry over me, old friend. I will be fine. We shall be seeing much of each other, until she learns to control my gift."

Cunning snorted, then sighed, nodding gently before she turned back to stand at Fenlamea's side.

Fenlamea threaded her fingers through the fur at the nape of Cunning's neck, scratching lightly. "Are you alright, falon?"

Cunning nodded, bumping gently into Fenlamea's side.

Falon'din and Dirthamen slipped through the barrier, June appearing in their wake. Elgar'nan followed, gesturing at the entrance as the sound of the doors closing behind him echoed against the mountains around them.

"Well, since you're all here now, just choose your mounts. The wolf's mine, the dracolisc is Dorian's, and Abelas usually rides Sathem. Atisha is Fen'harel's. Everything else is up for grabs." Fenlamea shrugged, waving vaguely at the remaining mounts.

A few minutes later, everyone had claimed and mounted their choices. Mythal chose the hart Cole normally rode, June went for the sturdy Nopalina, Elgar'nan rode the dreadsteed, and The Twins opted for the twin harts Abelas had summoned.

They set off at a gentle walk, Fenlamea at the head of their group, to ensure they were not delayed entry once they reached the keep. Elgar'nan and Mythal rode just behind her on either side, The Twins and June taking up the middle, Abelas and Dorian the rear.

Once they picked their way down the mountainside and into the valley, Abelas saw Fenlamea turn to Mythal.

"Have you informed them about vallaslin in this age?" she asked.

"I have," Mythal answered, "much to their confusion. But they understand, and have agreed to try their best not to call any marked as such slaves. Speaking from experience, it is a difficult habit to break. But they will learn, just as I did."

Fenlamea gave a sad smile, but nodded. "I will ensure everyone is assigned their own quarters once we arrive. Only key members of the Inquisition know the truth of who we went to retrieve, so discretion will be key for now. Once everyone is settled, we should have a meeting to discuss some initial plans. I have a multitude of resources at my disposal, so we can begin sending out explanations and instructions very quickly."

"A solid foundation, ashalan." Elgar'nan replied, prompting Fenlamea to twist to look at him, "'Ma vhen'an and I shall ensure our other children listen to your advice, until they understand this world competently enough. There is much to learn, I imagine."

"There is, lenalin, though lanalin and 'ma hah'ren will be the most instrumental in assisting all of you to adjust to this time, to make the transition to a new age as smooth as possible. It must be approached with great care, or it will spell disaster for all. I know this era well, but any advice I give will be shaped by it. There are gaps in my understanding that lanalin especially does not possess."

He saw Mythal shake her head. "You are selling yourself short, ashalan. Just because you were born in this century, does not mean you lack the wisdom to know what must be done, and how we must do it. I declared you to be our guide and gave you the power to aid you in this task. I wouldn't have done so, if I didn't think you capable of succeeding."

He caught the slight blush on Fenlamea's cheek as she answered, "I... of course, lanalin. Ir abelas, I misspoke. Of course I will do everything I can to be the guide you wish me to be. I only meant that - of those in our group - you and Abelas are the two who understand best what it is like to exist in this time, after having lived in the time of Elvhenan. Your combined experiences will be instrumental in this transitional period."

"Yet again, your humility is impressive, ashalan," Elgar'nan commented.

Her aura flooded with pleased embarrassment as she turned once again to look at the All-Father with a sly grin. "Be careful, lenalin. I may just float away on that cloud of praise you keep blessing me with."

Elgar'nan gave a full-bodied laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "A sense of humor! A very important thing to have, ashalan; I am gladdened to see it."

Fenlamea shrugged, still grinning. "I do try, lenalin."

She called back behind her, "I think we'd all like to get settled in before night comes. Shall we make a bit more haste?"

Varying measures of assent and agreement answered her, so she straightened on Cunning and gently urged her into a loping pace, the others following suit eagerly to keep up. Abelas worried for a moment if she would be able to stay on Cunning's back without a saddle, but soon found his fear was completely unfounded. She seemed to ride more comfortably bareback. He resolved to ask her about it later.

The towering outline of a restored Tarasyl'an Te'las shimmered in bright glory as they crested the last hill, bringing into stark contrast how affected it had been by the veil. Dull stone shone with a polished gleam, previously tattered banners flapped in vibrant colors, their edges clean and whole. He could feel Mythal's protective shield over the fortress from where they were, still nearly a thousand paces away from the bridge gate.

Cunning slowed at the lack of urging from a gaping Fenlamea. To Abelas' surprise, the rest of the pantheon reduced their clip as well, keeping her firmly in the lead. Mythal sidled up to her, and he could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn't see it.

"It is beautiful, is it not? Take your time; the rest of us have seen it in its full glory before, but you are its mistress now, and you should enjoy the view." She patted Fenlamea's shoulder, then veered off to her flank again.

They continued at a trot up the slope to the gate, arriving to see a large compliment of the guard standing on the sidelines at attention. Abelas moved to her side, protectively. The shem he'd learned was the Commander of her troops greeted her with a raised hand, his voice harried.

"Inquisitor! We've prepared as best we can, but this is... nothing like what we expected. We readied quarters for your guests, but there's a problem: the castle keeps, well... shifting, new rooms appear before we even realize they're needed- I've never seen anything like it."

"A fortress should know best how to please its mistress, should it not?" Mythal answered him, before Fenlamea could speak. "It is only doing what is best for her needs; indeed, that is how it was designed. You'll get used to it."

"I don't know who you are, but you seem to know more about it than we do," Cullen replied. "Everyone is in uproar, I have no idea what we can do to settle them down. They were told what was about to happen, but we were nowhere near prepared."

Fenlamea finally spoke up, "They will adjust, in time, Commander. We need to get settled, but as soon as we're ready, I'll call a meeting to discuss everything. The rest of the world will need more guidance than our people will."

He pressed in, lowering his voice so only the few in front of him could hear, "Fenlamea, I don't think you understand. People who have never had a spark of magic in their life are suddenly mages. The civilians are nearing a riotous frenzy if something isn't done. I can keep my troops in line, but we do not have nearly enough templars to handle the abominations we will have soon, if this keeps up."

Dirthamen laughed from behind Fenlamea, moving up between her and his mother to speak to Cullen, "The veil is gone, Commander of my sister's army. Demons have no interest in possessing anything now. If you do find abominations within your ranks, then they have hidden themselves well, for a long time. There is no risk of possession now. We will handle the panicking populace in a moment; for now, please let us pass in peace."

Cullen looked to Fenlamea for guidance. When she nodded her head in agreement with Dirthamen, the Commander shook his head and stepped aside. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Fenlamea chuckled, tilting her head at her Commander. "Are you a mage now, Cullen?"

Cullen blanched, then blushed, eyes flitting to the side in shame as he swallowed thickly, then gave the tiniest of nods. "Everyone is. I can't say I'm exactly fond of that fact, but it's apparently unavoidable, now."

She nodded with an understanding smile. "It's alright, Cullen. I will train you myself, if you like. You can teach your troops what you learn. We will _deal_ with this, falon, have no fear. It will all work out."

Cullen looked as unsure as anyone possibly could at hearing that, but he took a breath, clenched his jaw, and nodded. "As you say, Inquisitor. Shall I have some of the guard accompany you to the main tower?"

Fenlamea shook her head. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary, Commander. If someone wishes to greet our arrival with foolish, pointless violence, then they do not belong in the Inquisition's ranks to begin with."

He nodded grimly. "Very well. I have troops in place to keep the crowds back, hopefully that will be enough."

"It's appreciated, Commander," Dirthamen interjected, "you represent my sister's holdings with honor."

Cullen gave Dirthamen a worried glance, but reined in his apprehension quickly. "Thank you."

He shifted his gaze back to Fenlamea, then lower, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wait, is... that a _wolf_?"

She laughed. "Yes, it is. Well, she's a spirit of Cunning, actually, but she is currently a wolf. Do you like her?"

Cullen seemed like he was a bit unsteady on his feet, but managed to stay upright. "It is... very wolfy."

That comment was met by several titters of laughter throughout their group, causing Cullen to blush and clear his throat awkwardly. "Yes, well. Perhaps we should move on and get you inside. There is much to be done."

Fenlamea smiled. "That there is, Cullen." She leaned down and patted his arm. "All will be well. You'll see."


	8. Chapter 8

Translations:

Eolor: Cunning. Thank you, FenxShiral, for the translation!

Nas'taron: Twin soul.

Isa'ma'lin: Brother.

Asa'ma'lin: Sister.

Savhalla: Greetings.

Th'ea?: How be? Short, informal version of 'How are you?'

* * *

Cullen hadn't exaggerated. The crowds past the castle's main gates were jostling against the soldiers clearing their path, fear and panic a thick, rank stench in the air. It nearly overpowered the crackle of magic that now emanated from every soul and every corner in the fortress. Many of the people were shouting in panic; some angry, some confused, some weeping in utter horror. Others were smiling in an oddly serene manner, seemingly at peace with their new abilities.

When they came to a stop before the stables and dismounted, the press of civilians increased exponentially around them, as they grouped together to all try and shout their grievances at her at once. Fenlamea held her hand up for silence so she could speak, but was only met with even louder cries of outrage.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed her hah'ren from beside her, and she could easily feel the power of the spell he was using to augment the volume of his voice. "Your Inquisitor wishes to address your complaints. You _will_ let her speak!"

Finally, there was relative silence. She smiled at him in thanks, then turned to her people. She drew in a breath and began, "Good people of the Inquisition, hear me! I understand what you are going through is traumatic. We must pull together and lead the rest of the world by our example. If you are all in this much of a panic, can you imagine how the entire world feels- how your families at home feel? We are not the only ones affected by this drastic change, and yes, I know it is drastic. I sympathize with your plight. The changes that have been made were unavoidable, but I do regret that we could not prepare you any better."

She'd begun pacing slowly in front of the line of her soldiers, making eye contact with every soldier and civilian she could as she walked. "But we can turn this into a good thing, for everyone. We can lead this world into a new age that will outshine all other ages, we can bring about peace and happiness for the peoples of our lands, but only if we work together! We cannot do this if we are fractured within our own ranks. I implore you to consider where your hearts truly lie: with your people, or with yourself? Look at where you are, what banner you fight and serve under! We are the Inquisition, and we are stronger than this! We beat Corypheus, we stitched the sky, and now we have conquered the veil itself! What greater force, aside from gods themselves, do you know of that are capable of such things? We have done the impossible time and time again, and we will do it once more!"

She stopped, her eyes sweeping out over the crowd, her arms held open to them all as she continued solemnly. "But I need your support to do this. Your Inquisitor is calling; will you answer? Are you with me?"

She was met with silence. Everywhere she looked, eyes met hers solidly, but none spoke.

"Maker's sake, am I really the only one with the balls to speak up?" A gruff male voice from the crowd finally asked.

She tried to find the source of the voice in the sea of eyes, to no avail. Then, people began to move aside, making way for someone that was obviously shorter than the rest, as she still couldn't see him. When he finally made his way past the last person in front of him, a dwarf looked up at her with a tight smile.

"Hello, Your Worship. I'm not certain we've ever met, but you've saved my life more times than I can count. Even if none of these other sods stay with you, I owe you my life. I'm not going anywhere until that debt is paid in full. But I do have one request, if I can beg it of you." He smiled a little more broadly.

She grinned. "Of course. What is it you wish?"

He chuckled and held his hand up, his fingers sparking storm magic between them as he looked at the spectacle in wonder. "I'd really like someone to teach me how to manage this properly, if it's all the same to you. Never thought I'd have magic, though I'd heard rumors that we once had mages back in the old days. But magic is meant to serve, and I'd like to know how to use it to serve you better."

Surprised joy lit across her face at his request. "Yes! All who need training will be provided training, no questions. I would hardly wish for anyone to lack an understanding of their new abilities." She looked up to the crowd. "Absolutely, you will have the best teachers, all of you. I will be training our good Commander personally, and I am not opposed to taking on a few more students. If you are in need of training, you may approach any trained mage in the keep to ask them for help. Please do be patient, however, as the new mages now vastly outnumber those who are already trained."

She looked back down to the dwarf and smiled. "I am glad of your support, Ser. Thank you."

He chuckled and a flush reddened his cheeks. "It's no problem, your worship. This is a dream come true, really, I'm tickled pink."

She grinned at him, but before she could say anything back, a human man elbowed his way to the front, anger in his eyes.

"Well I'm not tickled pink. I never wanted this filth, and I still don't. I want it gone." Several murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd at the man's statement.

She raised her eyebrow at him, slightly insulted at his insinuation that _she_ was filth for having been a mage all along. She pursed her lips and turned to her new family, her eyes seeking Dirthamen's. If anyone would know if it was possible to remove magic, it would be the Keeper of Secrets. She sighed when his eyes met hers. "Brother, do you know of a way to do this?"

Dirthamen gave a tiny smile to her, then moved toward the man, hand held out. She wondered if he actually knew a way for a moment, but when she saw the man's face go blank as he accepted Dirthamen's hand, she knew he was only reading the man. The man gasped for air as they separated, his eyes wide as he snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned. Dirthamen stood facing the crowd as he spoke, his aura tinged with dark amusement.

"This man lies. Though his prejudice runs deep, he has secretly always wished for the gift of magic, and was thoroughly disappointed when he grew of age and had shown no sign. Unless you have a valid complaint, I would suggest keeping your objections to your new powers to yourselves. It will serve little purpose more than to make you look a fool and a traitor for your lies." He turned his back on the people he'd addressed, then smiled genuinely with a small bow to her. He laid his hand on her arm above her sleeve as he passed her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "They are ready to follow you, sister. They only need a small push to leap over the edge with you."

She smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, brother."

He chuckled softly as he passed behind her. "Think nothing of it."

She met eyes with the man Dirthamen had cowed, and gave him a kind smile. "Do you have any questions, Ser?"

He held a trembling hand out before him - notably not the one he'd offered to Dirthamen - and pointed at her brother. "Who's he? What'd he just do to me?"

She looked back at Dirthamen with a smirk, which she schooled into a neutral expression by the time she'd turned back to the man, who was still staring at her brother with open horror. "That is my brother, Ser, and will be afforded every respect that he is due. As to what he did, it is a special magical ability he has. You were not harmed by it, I assure you. He has used it on me before, and I am perfectly fine."

The man gaped at her, looking over her form, as if confirming for himself that she was indeed unharmed. Nodding slowly, he swallowed, lowering his pointed finger to his side. He bowed his head gently. "As you say, Inquisitor. I- I will stay."

She smirked at him, and bobbed her head in acknowledgment. "Your... loyalty is appreciated, Ser."

She looked out to the rest of the people gathered, assessing their auras for a moment. It seemed her brother was correct. She lifted her voice to them, "Are there any other concerns at this time?"

A small elven woman near the front raised her hand timidly. "Aye, Your Worship, I have a question."

Fenlamea graced the woman with a smile. Her face bore the vallaslin of Mythal, a stark reminder of the lines and curves that had once marred Fenlamea's own face. "Yes, lethallan?" she asked.

"What of possession? Is there not a great risk of that now, with all of us? Any one of us could be possessed, and we might not know who!"

Fenlamea shook her head. "No, lethallan. The veil is gone, which removes the temptation of any demons to claim a host for their own. They are now free, as are we all. There is little to fear now, unless one actually encounters such a creature face-to-face. You will all be taught how to defend yourself, in such a situation. Have no fear of them; they can be defeated, just like any other enemy."

Whispers and murmurs of surprised approval drift among the populace, their auras lightening from their darkened states hesitantly. The elven woman seems to deflate with a sigh of relief. "'Ma serannas, Your Worship. I think you just eased a lot of minds with that news."

Fenlamea smiled widely. "Then I am glad you asked the question." She looked back up to the crowd. "Anyone else? Please, if there's anything, speak up. I don't want to leave any concerns unanswered."

She waited, but none spoke. She tilted her head with a hopeful half-smile, raising her arms once more. "Then, are you with me? You are free to leave if you are not, but we would welcome your support with open arms if you wish to stay."

"I'm with you, Your Worship," answered the dwarf.

"And I," assured the human, a sheepish look upon his face.

"We believe in you, Inquisitor. I think we're just a bit scared, is all." The elven woman gestured at her surroundings, encompassing the visibly shifting keep and the people around her. "It's a _lot_ to get used to."

Fenlamea chuffed and nodded. "You're right about that, to be sure. Believe me when I say, you're not the only ones adjusting to all this. I've been a mage since I was just a girl, and it's still throwing me off. This is... well, overwhelming seems a bit of an underwhelming word to use in this case, but we can overcome our unease together. We will be stronger for it, in fact. I hope you will all stay. But I understand if it is too much."

She looked back at her new family, her hah'ren, her da'isenatha, and Cunning, then back at the crowd. "We must retire and make plans for ushering in this new age. The world must be helped to understand, must be guided as best we can guide it. After, if any of you have questions or concerns, I - as well as any of my advisers or family that choose to make themselves available - will be here to help as much as we are able. I want whomever stays to be glad of your decision, and will do anything in my power to help that goal."

Several voices from the crowd gave their assent, others nodding, still others standing rigidly, their auras hard and dim with barely stifled discontent. She hoped they would come to her with their concerns, but would not weep for their loss, if they truly could not be consoled. She had done what she could for the moment; she had to look to all of their futures now. She sighed and waved her family and friends on, heading for the main tower of her keep.

The doors swung wide for them as they approached, welcoming them into the sight of the grand hall restored to opulent splendor; shining walls reflecting the sunlight from the glimmering stained glass behind the throne, throwing rainbows of breathtaking color about the room. The fire roared happily behind its hearth, creating plentiful warmth to heat the entire hall, without consuming the fuel it sprang from. Simple, sturdy decor she had never seen fit to change, was now polished and gleaming softly, wood grain warming the light that hit it to create a comforting atmosphere. She had never felt so at home, so peaceful, as she did now.

She turned to grin at Mythal. "It's beautiful. I never thought it could be so comforting."

Mythal smiled kindly. "It's welcoming you home, ashalan. It will never be as bright when you are not present. It will still be glorious, but all will come to know when you are here, by how it greets them."

Fenlamea flared her mana out, sending it to the center of her keep's power, brushing her mana along it gently in gratitude. She felt it respond happily in kind, then retreat softly.

Mythal chuckled. "Very good instincts, Fenlamea. The more in tune you are with your home, the happier it will be to serve your needs." She drew in a breath, letting it out in a pleased sigh. "It has been a long time since I saw it with my own eyes. It is good to see it has been treated well.

"But, enough of my musings. We should be settled quickly, and see to our new world." She glanced about at her family. "I will see us all to our quarters; I know the way." She looked to Fenlamea. "Did you want the Wolf to be placed in a specific room? It would be best if he were nearby to assist in your transition."

Fenlamea considered this for a moment or two, realizing with chagrin that her mother was right. She sighed, then startled, whipping about at the sound of stone cracking and rumbling behind her. She watched in awe as a doorway formed in the wall, only a few paces from the door to her own quarters. She moved to the newly made archway, seeing a door materialize out of thin air, already open and welcoming. She peeked beyond it and saw a bedchamber within. It was small, but comfortable-looking.

Stepping back in amused surprise, she gestured to it as she gave a bemused smirk to Mythal. "I believe that is a hint to house him there."

Mythal chuckled. "I believe you're right. Very well, that is where he'll stay. He should have a healer assigned to him, until he has fully recovered."

Fen'harel sighed heavily beside her. "I will be fine without one, Mythal."

Mythal raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look. "You can't heal yourself with your mana drained as it is, old friend. Let someone tend to you until you can tend to yourself properly. It will take quite some time for your mana to return to you."

He gave another, more defeated sigh in response. "Very well, if you insist."

She nodded. "I do insist, Wolf. Come, let's get you situated. We'll retrieve you when it's time for the meeting. For now, rest is in order."

Fenlamea watched Mythal help Fen'harel into his room, then turned as they disappeared through the doorway to seek out June. When she managed to catch his eye, she smiled and called out, "June, I believe you wished to speak to me about my foci?"

He gave her a slow nod of his head, moving toward her with unhurried, gentle steps as he spoke. "I did indeed, sister. Is the undercroft still a place of creation? If so, I would make use of the tools there, to assist you."

She nodded, unsurprised that the space had once had a similar purpose in ancient times. It was the perfect place for crafting and smithing armor and weapons. "It is, though I'm not sure if the tools you need can still be found there."

June chuckled as he began to walk toward the undercroft, shaking his head at her as she fell into step beside him. "If the tools I need are not there, then I will make them. They are simple enough."

She smiled up at him. She was really beginning to like this new brother of hers. "That is very practical, brother. I respect that. I've often had to employ a similar philosophy with magic."

He held the door open and let her pass before following her in and asking, "Oh? You have created new forms of magic for yourself before?"

She nodded, looking over her shoulder at him, then sweeping her hand out over the undercroft. "I have, and welcome. Our resident enchanter and smith aren't here right now, so you have free reign. Just... please don't melt Harrit's family hammer," she requests with a smile, "he'll never forgive me."

June snorted. "I have no need of a hammer, let alone melting one. What I do need are far finer tools than hammers." He held his hand out. "Give me the foci and come with me. We should make some haste, if we wish to be done in time for the meeting."

She nodded, calling her foci out of her pack and placing it in his open hand. He turned her foci over, studying it for a few seconds, then nodded to himself, heading down the stairs into the undercroft proper. She heard him muttering to himself quietly, then felt his mana flare out to every work table at once. She watched with surprise as various tools were lifted from the tables and brought to hover in front of him, beside her foci, which was now hovering in his magic as well. She moved to a few paces away from his side for a better view, crossing her arms and tilting her head as she waited.

A sound not unlike the rumbling of an avalanche came from June's throat, and she felt and heard the magic in the room respond with the same sort of humming vibration, as if he were warping the magic in the area around him in some manner. The effect made her feel as if she were in nearly a trance-like state. After a time, she couldn't really tell how long, the sound quieted, then stopped all together. She opened her eyes, only then realizing she'd closed them to begin with, and shook her head sharply, focusing on June.

"What was _that?_" she asked, a bit of confused wonder tinting her question.

June chuckled, smiling slyly at her. "That was something I use to ensure that I remain the Master of Craft. It keeps all other occupants of the room in a pleasantly dazed, yet still somewhat lucid state, as I work. It keeps them able to converse, but unable to know what I have done to my project. Sadly, they also forget the conversation that happens during it; a side effect I have yet to work out of the spell." He sighed and handed her the foci. "Your foci is now cleansed of Fen'harel's influence, and attuned to you. Welcome to our family, little sister. I truly hope you survive; I enjoy your company as I craft."

She blinked at him in surprise, taking her foci in her hands. She wanted to ask him about that conversation they'd apparently had, but the moment her foci touched her, she felt its power thrum within her very _soul_; reaching into her, pulling and pushing, giving and taking. The feeling of it was both highly disturbing and very pleasant, which greatly confused her senses. She managed to tear her gaze away from it long enough to look up at June with a raised eyebrow.

"Is... it _supposed_ to do that?" she asked.

June laughed heartily. "Yes, it is, little sister. It is new for you, I know, but you will grow used to it in time. You will learn to love that feeling, for it is a feeling of pure, raw power; the power that very nearly bridges the gap between your own immense energy, and that of our parent's. With your own, purified foci, you are now truly a rival to any of us, save our parents."

"So they are still more powerful than we are?"

He nodded. "Oh yes. There is nothing that exists that can truly make us gods, as they are. We can only come very close."

She grinned at him. "Good."

He laughed again. "I really do hope you survive, little sister. You will be good for us, I think. Dirthamen agrees, as does mother."

Her eyebrow flicked up as her grin turned to a smirk. "I'm glad. I admit I'm curious what we talked about while you were crafting, though."

He shrugged, a rolling of his shoulders that was as easy and gentle as his personality. "We mostly got to know each other a bit better. You spoke of your time as Inquisitor, and your defeat of the tainted Magister. I spoke of the last few items I crafted before the Fall."

"The Fall of Elvhenan?"

He nodded. "Yes. It was a vile time. I have little taste for war. I have crafted many fine weapons in my time, and knew the use of each well, but had rarely been forced to use any of them, until those horrible few months. My sister's mind was truly gone, before the end. I should have foreseen it; I knew her best of all, besides mother. I am not even certain she knew it, until she found one of Andruil's arrows lodged in her heart," his aura darkened with sorrow as he looked Fenlamea in the eyes and continued, "arrows that _I _crafted for her."

Her throat tightened, sympathy guiding her hand as she placed it on his arm and gently squeezed. He gave her a sad smile, and nodded his thanks. He looked as if he were about to continue, but he suddenly stiffened, then his great form shuddered slightly as he released a sigh. It was only then that she felt the source of his discomfort. A mana only vaguely familiar to her from the temple had encroached on them, from what felt like somewhere in the main hall. It slithered across them slickly, chilling her to the bone, though it definitely wasn't ice magic. It felt like a far stronger version of her da'isenatha's death magic, except it tasted extremely... _wrong_, twisted somehow. She looked with no small amount of dread towards the door, then back to June with a raised eyebrow.

"Falon'din," he muttered, "I imagine he wishes to have that conversation you requested of him." He then took her chin in his large, rough hand and leaned down to her ear, tilting her face aside with a touch more gentle than she ever expected from him, as he whispered to her, "Be careful, sister. His nas'taron favors you greatly, but _he_ does not. He is a snake, and he will strike when you least expect it, so long as you do not carry his favor. Even _that_ is fickle, in the best of times. We can only protect you if you protect yourself from the folly of trusting him." He laid a soft kiss on her cheek and backed up enough to smile down at her with kind concern, stroking the apple of her cheek fondly with his thumb, before fully retreating.

The affection from him was unexpected, yet something in the back of her mind seemed to accept it as genuine. Perhaps it was a remnant of memory from their conversation while he crafted, lingering in the shadowed recesses of her mind? She would likely never know, but oddly, her instincts told her to trust him. Trust was not something she had for most people, but she'd always followed her instincts on that matter. To realize she felt that way, without really knowing why, disturbed her more than a little. But if she could not trust her own instincts on this, what could she?

"'Ma serannas, isa'ma'lin."

He smiled fondly at her. "De da'rahn, asa'ma'lin. Go. He will not try to kill you now, but take care what you say to him."

"I will." She smirked at him. "Wish me cleverness, to outsmart death itself." Her smirk shifted to a grin as he smiled at her and nodded.

"Cleverness you already possess, little sister. It is _Eolor_ instead, that you will need." He lifted an eyebrow and nodded towards her as he emphasized the elvish word for cunning.

She lifted her head in an easy nod as she understood his meaning. "Then I shall find Eolor between here and my dear, sweet brother." She smiled and lifted her foci for a moment. "Thank you for this. I am in your debt."

He smiled. "For a foci, there is no debt to be paid. It is a gift, sister. It is my welcome to our family. The next thing you ask me to craft, I will ask a favor for. You need not worry until then." He waved his hand to shoo her gently. "Go, before he becomes impatient."

She smiled and nodded, biting her bottom lip as she turned, settling her foci into her pack as she went. She pulled the door open to the main hall and stepped out, sensing the pull of the twisted mana from the front of the hall. She saw Cunning seated next to the throne, still in her wolf form, and motioned for Cunning to join her. Cunning nodded and fell in on her right side. Moving to the middle of the hall, Fenlamea saw Falon'din seated comfortably by the fire, a glass of wine on the table next to him. Steeling herself, she pulled her expression into a mask of neutrality. As much as it would not hide her aura, it made her feel more confident, which _would_ influence his reading of her. Her hah'ren had taught her that trick months ago; something she was incredibly grateful for at that very moment.

She approached her serpent-mannered brother with a sly, but friendly smile, carding her fingers through Cunning's fur as though she were a simple pet. "Savhalla, isa'ma'lin. Th'ea?"

Falon'din snorted, finally deigning to look up at her and Cunning. He replied in trade, "Greetings, sister. I am bored. And you?"

She smirked, taking a seat at the other end of the short table from him. "Sad that you're so bored." Cunning sat next to her chair.

He raised an eyebrow of minor intrigue. "Sad? Why sad? It is hardly your fault; though, I suppose you are keeping me from finding my own fun, with this little conversation you've arranged."

She grinned at him. "Then I am doubly sad to have been the partial cause of such boredom! What a travesty! How can I correct this gross negligence, brother?"

He sneered at her, standing abruptly and pointing at her accusingly. "You mock me!"

She held her hands up to stay his accusation, her jovial expression melting into something more sincere. "Not at all, brother. I would never seriously mock any family of mine. What kind of great fool would I be, to insult my own relatives? No, indeed I was sincere in my query. Is it entertainment you seek? Or are you simply eager to perform your duties to the dead?"

He slowly lowered his hand to his side, clenching it into a fist, which relaxed in tiny increments, with each measured breath he took. Finally, his hand opened, and he sat down again with a sigh. His eyes were still narrowed at her when he spoke, "I doubt any form of entertainment you could provide would suffice, sister. But it is partially that I wish to get on with my duties, yes."

Cunning nuzzled Fenlamea's hand, trying to dip her nose under it. Fenlamea complied, smiling over at Cunning, who looked directly at her as her fur was petted.

'_Appeal to his vanity, young goddess. Of all the gods, he is the most vain.'_

Fenlamea's eyebrow flicked up for but a moment, which she covered with a smile at her familiar. Hearing her voice in her head was not nearly as disconcerting as she would have thought, though it was certainly a surprise.

She returned her attention to Falon'din quickly, smiling at him as genuinely as she had ever smiled. "I am sorry to keep you, brother; I merely wished to get to know my handsomest brother a little better. If you would rather go and attend to your duties, I will of course not delay you any further."

The suspicion on his face smoothed into mild surprise, then into something akin to a pleased smile, though it looked as though he'd nearly forgotten exactly how a smile was supposed to work. His aura, however, blared his vanity and pride having been stroked for all to see. "Hmm, perhaps I will stay then, for a bit. They have waited for a millennia, what is a few more minutes? What may I do for you, dear sister?"

'_Excellent, goddess. Ease into your truce with him gently, now. It will not last, but the longer you can fake enjoying his company, the better,'_ Cunning whispered into her mind. Fenlamea scratched gently behind Cunning's ear, in both reward and understanding.

"Oh, I ask nothing, sweet brother, but your company for a while. I should very much enjoy speaking with you, sibling to sibling, for however long you feel comfortable with. Our planned meeting is to be held soon, will you be attending?"

He flicked his wrist in a lackadaisical manner, adding a shrug for emphasis. "I may. My opinion is generally not needed at such events. I doubt they would even realize I was gone."

She gasped, clearly scandalized at his statement. "How could they? Your opinion is extremely important, just as all of our family's opinions are. And I should certainly like to hear what you think about what plans we come up with. Personally, I do not think our gathering would be complete without you present. But of course, it is your choice." She pouted ever so slightly for effect. "I simply wish to hear your thoughts on things, that's all."

Cunning snickered in her mind, but made no other comment.

Falon'din snorted, then quietly extended it into a chuckle. His aura shone his amusement as true, slivers of pride and ego stabbing through his humor like little daggers. His was a strange aura to read, indeed. He tilted his head and put slightly more effort into his facsimile of a smile. "You are an amusing little thing, sister. Father was right about your sense of humor. It was something the Wolf was never particularly adept at, sadly. He probably would have been more popular if he'd bothered to develop a sense of humor. Mother and Dirthamen always found him hilarious, though. I never could understand it. None of the things he said that they laughed at ever made sense."

'_You and I both know that's a load of halla shit. But you can use it to your advantage. See if you can think of a way to make it seem like Fen'harel's humor is inferior or different than Falon'din's.'_

Fenlamea considered her brother's words seriously, trying to see it from his point of view, taking Cunning's advice to heart. "Perhaps they were inside jokes? Or, they simply needed a context you were not given?"

"No." He shook his head, genuinely troubled by the concept. "They were told often at parties, where most laughed. Though, they mostly laughed to please him, I mean, who in their right mind would dare not laugh at a god's jokes?" He seemed truly horrified by the notion. "The scandal!"

She rested her chin on her palm, thrumming her fingers against her cheek in thought. "Hmm." She pointed at him. "Ah! Perhaps it is simply a case of totally opposing senses of humor? Not every style of humor is suited to every person, after all. Everyone has personal preferences."

He raised an eyebrow in surprised enlightenment, regarding her with open curiosity, tentative joy harassing the edges of his aura. "You know, sister, you may actually be right! That would explain everything, after all. I've hardly ever found the jokes I've heard to be amusing in the slightest, and I've never understood why. A different sense of humor wasn't even a concept in Elvhenan, really. Everyone generally moved in the same circles, so much was the same in the overall preferences of the majority, including humor. It fits perfectly, actually." He managed something like a genuinely delighted grin for her. "Oh, sister, you have solved a riddle I have been trying to solve for nearly my entire life. 'Ma serannas, asa'ma'lin. I am in your debt for this favor. Please, ask what you wish in return, any time. If it is within my power, I will grant it."

She held her hand to her chest, rather genuinely touched that she'd managed to help him, despite actually mocking him behind the curtains of her facade. "Oh, brother, I am so glad I could help you in this. But a favor is not necessary. If you insist, I only ask for your friendship, as I desire nothing more than to be your sister."

'_Good play, goddess. But do be careful not to dismiss any other favors you garner so easily. Falon'din is playing you as hard as you're playing him, never forget that.'_

She gave Cunning a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment, as Falon'din smiled in his disturbingly strained, but adoring manner at Fenlamea.

"You are such a kind soul, sister. I had not thought when you were upheld as the Wolf's replacement, that you would be any better than he, but I was wrong. I accept your offer of friendship wholeheartedly, and am honored that your request should be so humble. I am starting to understand what the rest of my family have been raving about for the past hour."

She beamed a genuine grin at him. "Well I'm pleased to hear it! Family should be friends, if possible. Having enemies in one's own family seems... counter-productive." She flipped her hand in a mimicry of a shrug. "Something for philosophers to debate over. Anyway, I shan't keep you longer. I'm certain you'd like to get to your duties, and I should see to a bit of training before the meeting, if possible."

He nodded his agreement. "Fair enough, I'll leave you to it then, sweet sister. Train hard, night approaches swiftly.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

He felt better the moment he left the keep's walls. Maintaining the facade of enjoying that woman's attentions had been a mind-numbing task. Though there had been a few things he enjoyed about their conversation. _Very _few things. More than he could say for most people, really. But he still didn't like or trust her. His nas'taron was blinded by her charms, as was most of his remaining family. How they could so easily dismiss the obvious deficiencies of this power-hungry little glutton, he refused to understand. He had her believing his offer of friendship was genuine, so he would bide his time, letting her lower her guard until it was an opportune time to strike. He could wait centuries if he had to; he was in no hurry.

For now, the dead needed their shepherd. It would likely take him many years to catch up on his soul count. By the time he did, his power would have grown exponentially.

He would wait.


	9. Chapter 9

"We can't do that! The whole world is in panic, we have to be united here, or we will lose it all!"

"What good is being united when terrible ideas keep spouting from their mouths like a plague?"

"Oh for- Enough! We have to come to a decision on this, the world is waiting!"

"You three are the only ones arguing that!"

Dirthamen sighed, brow framed by his fingers as he sat watching them argue... for the past hour. He shook his head and straightened in his chair as he prepared to speak, only to slouch back into it with a groan when another screamed a reply, folding his hands in front of him to wait, yet again. He was likely the most patient of all the pantheon, but even for him, this was getting ridiculous. His new sister sat next to him, seeming equally perturbed at the turn of events as they watched Mythal, Elgar'nan, and Fen'harel fight over the best course of action. For a time, she'd kept out of it, but eventually, she'd tried to get them to make peace; an effort he knew all too well was utterly futile.

As the three began yet another round of shouting, and Fenlamea seemed tensed to intervene at any second, he reached out and took her hand, deciding to have a talk with her, without being interrupted by the senseless yelling of his parents and older brother. He took her mind into his, creating a small, silent space for them to have a chat, away from all the noise.

"Hello, sister." He smiled at her image in this place, summoning two chairs beside them and waving his hand at the one nearest her. "Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss."

He watched as she looked around in confusion for a few moments, then focused on him. "Where... are we?"

He chuckled. "We're in my mind, asa'ma'lin. Time has no meaning here, so by the time we emerge from this place, we will be listening to whatever fool statement was about to be uttered by my father's mouth next. He often speaks before he thinks; it's always been a weakness of his. But come, please, sit. I wish to have a civilized conversation with one of my family, for a change."

She complied, sinking into the seat he'd provided with a huff of obvious exhaustion. She'd been training with the Wolf and Abelas tirelessly for hours before they were called into the meeting, and the strain showed clearly in both her face and aura. That she was still managing to try to mediate between the Wolf and his parents was a minor miracle, if her lack of energy was any indication.

"I don't know what to tell them. I get that I'm new to this family... pantheon..." She sighed heavily. "Whatever it is. But it's like I don't even exist. Usually I can work between several groups and mediate at least well enough to force a truce. But with them, it's like talking to a wall." She threw her hands up, letting them fall back down to her lap helplessly with a smack.

He smirked, nodding softly at her. "I know what you mean. Why do you think I've stayed silent and watched this whole time?"

She looked at him strangely, seemingly baffled at his question. "It's... what you do. You watch, you listen, you keep secrets."

He laughed heartily, shaking his head with a grin as he looked at her. "Is that what you think, dear sister? My, but I have built quite the image for myself over the centuries, if that's what you believe."

She frowned, her confusion tinting her aura darkly. "Then, what's the truth?"

He leaned toward her and crooked his finger at her conspiratorially, as if her being any closer, or him speaking any more quietly made a bit of difference when they were in this place. She leaned in anyway, as he knew she would, listening.

"This is how I get secrets, sister. I ask for them. Or I trade for them, or buy them. Being observant helps, naturally. But one can only obtain so much before one must ask, or bargain. So which will it be, sister? Will you ask for my secrets, or will you bargain with me?"

She gave him the reaction he least expected. She scoffed, right in his face. "Brother, I've nothing left to bargain with. You know it all. So I am left with asking, and what chance have I that you will give me the answers I need?"

He tilted his head in curiosity at her. What an odd response. Of course she had things to bargain with, it wasn't like he'd... oh. She didn't know. Well, of course not, how could she? He snickered at the realization. "Sister, you have more than you think you do to bargain with. Do you think that I took every secret from your mind when I read it?"

Her stunned surprise flared through her aura, her face only betraying a fraction of it. Someone had trained her well, to have such a small reaction. "Well I... yes, that is what I'd thought. Are you saying that's not what happened?"

He shook his head, a small smile plucking the corners of his lips upwards. "No, asa'ma'lin, I did not take all of your secrets. I am not my mother; I cannot read a person's entire life in mere seconds. Even a short life, like the one you have lived thus far, would take me years to read, during which we would both dessicate from lack of food and movement. I know, I have fallen prey to that before." He looked off into the blackness surrounding them as he recalled the memory. "I spent a hundred years in that woman's mind, lost to her. When we both woke from it, and realized what had happened, it devastated us both. It took a year to regain our former physical strength. We never spoke to each other after that." He returned his gaze to her face, and smiled sadly. "I swore never to be so greedy again. So no, I do not know any more than what your intentions were regarding our family. That was all I sought, and all I took. You still have much to bargain with, if that is your preference."

Her head twitched gently, as if a shiver had just raced up her spine. "That is... quite a story. She must've been very special."

His smile grew softly as he looked down to his own hands in his lap. "She was. Even as well as I know my twin, I knew her better, by the end. It wasn't worth it. The price was too high. But, enough of my melancholy. You wish to know things, and I can tell you those things. So, which is first?"

She sighed and sunk back into the chair, regarding him thoughtfully. "Why does your twin hate me?"

He laughed quietly. "Are you asking, or bargaining?"

She shrugged. "What do you want to know in return?"

He smirked. "Nothing. This, I will tell you for free. Falon'din hates everyone; himself most of all. I know it sounds strange, as vain as he is, but it's the truth. He hates me the most beside himself, for knowing him as well as I do, even as he loves me for always being loyal to him, no matter what comes. He will likely try to kill you at some point, but don't take it personally; he tries to kill everyone, myself included." He tilted his head, looking up into blackness as an odd thought occurred to him. "I think it actually might be the way he shows affection." He moved his gaze back to her and chuckled, shaking his head.

She joined him in his amusement, though the confusion on her face was plain to see. "That _is_ very strange. But alright, next question. Or, bargain, as I assume I'll have to for this one." She took a breath and blew it out, her cheeks puffing and deflating as she turned her sharpened eyes on him. "What do I need to do to get them out there." She waved her hand in the general direction that the rest of the pantheon were seated at. "To cooperate? Obviously, mediation isn't working. So what will?"

He smiled and held his hand across the gap between their chairs. She took another breath and placed her hand in his. A moment later, and he had his payment. "To get them to listen, you need to assert yourself, and give them a better plan than what they are all squabbling over. I know you can come up with something better; for what little I know of this new world, their ideas will never work. Use reason and sense, make sure your plan is sound, then stand up and shout it at them already. They will listen, even if they bicker for a bit about it afterwards."

Her brow scrunched up in skeptical surprise. "Just... make sense and yell it at them loudly? That seems way too simple."

He chortled, grinning at her. "Indeed, it is simple. Think of them as children that are used to getting their way, but who will listen to the one who can scream at them more loudly and clearly than the rest. Mother is usually the more sensible of the lot, but even she has had her moments."

Her face screwed up in concentration for a moment, then relaxed. "Alright, I'll think on it. So what did you take as payment?"

"A moment of great beauty, sorrow, and joy, where your spirit sang and wept all at once. It is quite lovely, that moment. It is a seed that I will watch with interest, to see if it grows." He smiled at her kindly as he played the memory in his mind.

She frowned. "How long ago was this moment?"

He huffed his laughter softly, ticking his finger side to side at her, as if scolding a naughty child. "It is my secret to guard now, asa'ma'lin. If you wish it, you must bargain for it."

She lifted an incredulous eyebrow at him. "You're keeping my own moment from me?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "It is ours now. I may keep it as I wish."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, keep it if you're so cozy with it. Oh! I've got one I want to know. But you'll have to pull it out of my head to get at it."

Now it was his turn to be surprised and confused. "And how exactly am I do discover something in your mind which you yourself do not know? Do you have amnesia?"

She nodded slowly. "Well, in a way, yes. I'm dying to know what I talked about with June while he fixed my foci. I don't want to know what he did with his crafting and all that, I just want to know about the conversation."

Understanding dawned on him swiftly. That was a request he'd gotten from many, over the years. "Ah, I understand. I am curious as well. I will take the memory of the conversation as payment for restoring it to you."

She blinked. "You can do that? Just... restore it?"

He nodded. "Yes. Did June not mention this to you?"

She shook her head, her brow frowning. "No, he didn't. Then again, I think Falon'din interrupted us, so maybe he was going to?"

He shrugs, wobbling his head slowly for a moment in deliberation. "It's possible. Come, let us fix your gap of memory." He held his hand between them once more.

She gave him her trust once more, and he dove deep, as he always had to, to restore a portion of what his brother had hidden. The scene began to play before him, and he heard the deep rumbling sound of his brother's spell, a sound that he had grown to rather enjoy over time.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

She lifted her head from the near sleeping state she'd been in as Dirthamen worked on her, and looked at him. "So what he said we talked about was really what we talked about? Well, that and the getting to know each other bit."

He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Yes. June does not often lie, and when he does, well... it's obvious." He chuckled softly. "I'm afraid my brother is a bit too innocent-minded to lie very well. But, I suppose it fits him."

She grins, nodding her head in fond agreement. "It really does. Thank you, it's good to know what was said. I don't like having blanks in my memory. It's happened before, thanks to a fear demon. That was not pleasant, in any way."

"Ah, yes." He shook his head with a look of disgust. "Fear demons are nasty creatures. I can't imagine it was easy to get your memories back, if you did at all."

"Oh I did," she replied, "and lost a good man to the damned thing, escaping from it. There's times I wish I didn't remember that, but I don't want to forget his sacrifice for us. We're alive because of him."

"Friend of yours?"

"Oh, in a way, I suppose. I didn't know him terribly well, but he was a good man, from all accounts." She shook her head sharply, clearing her mind. "In any case, I need a plan. Ooh, also, could you teach me that trick Abelas used to make his voice louder and shout over the crowd earlier? I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

He smiled, dipping his head. "Of course, asa'ma'lin. I do not use it often, but this is how it works." He drew his hand down his throat, pouring mana into the flesh there, then dropped his hand to his lap, as he continued to channel.

She reached her mana out to test his, feeling the magic that he used and learning it slowly. After several moments of absorbing the information, she tried it herself. "IS IT- OH-" She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she looked at him.

He winced, but smiled. "Yes, I'd say you've got it. A little less mana would probably do the trick just fine, however."

She nodded and stopped casting all together, before she spoke again. "Thank you, I'm sure that will be helpful. Now, a plan. I'd say what I thought of to begin with would probably work. I mean it makes sense to me."

He waved her on. "Tell me, then. Let us see if it is as sound as you believe."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

It was almost like time had been turned back several thousand years. What was it, but another typical day of the pantheon screaming at each other, each one trying to shout the loudest? It was, after all, their favorite activity; if at least one of them didn't shout like an angry da'len at some point during any gathering, something was extremely off.

Then, Dirthamen reached over to touch Fenlamea's arm, and it all changed.

A few seconds passed, then she turned and looked at Abelas, smiling as if she understood all the knowledge of the universe in that moment. Then she weaved a spell over her throat that he himself had used earlier that day, and stood.

"Lenalin, lanalin, isa'ma'lin'en; hear me!" All went silent as her voice pierced sharply through their bickering. "While we argue, the world we mean to protect and guide is in chaos, likely tearing itself apart! We need a plan that will work, and I have it, if you would listen."

Mythal was the first to smile in surprise and reply, "Then speak it, ashalan, please. I tire of these arguments as much as you seem to have. If you have a solution, let's hear it."

June folded his massive hands before him and nodded. Elgar'nan slowly cooled his wrath at being interrupted and tilted his head toward her. Fen'harel seated himself and looked at her with tight-lipped patience. Dirthamen very nearly grinned his pride at her, obviously knowing exactly what she had planned. Abelas knew then that Dirthamen's touch hadn't been a coincidence.

She smiled as she released her spell and began, "First, we must send messages out to every nation, to their governments, reaching out to tell them we have a solution. If we intend to lead this world into a new age, we will have to strike first, be the first source of real information and comfort to a world in utter ruin. There will be nations that will not want our help. They will likely either collapse in on themselves, or go to war. Tevinter and the qunari are not likely to respond well. But the rest, the vast majority, will be looking for guidance, and we will be there to provide it."

She took a breath, looking at those gathered before she continued, "Once we hear back from them, the real work will begin. We will need to delegate, to keep from being overwhelmed. I suggest keeping the current governments in place, as it will help with stability. Even if they must be modified to a point, they have existed for long enough, that trying to uproot them now would be suicide. We're not trying to conquer anyone, we're trying to lead and guide them. If they are looking to us for the support they need, that gives us the power to do what must be done. The nations that don't respond well will be overwhelmed by the ones that do.

"I'm not going to lie, it's going to be a struggle. It's going to be a lot of work. It will take dedication to make this happen, but it's the best shot we have right now. We must strike while the minds and hearts of those we mean to guide are malleable enough to mold into the world we wish it to be. It can be done, but it must be done now, without further deliberation or arguments." Her features were solemn as she finished.

The Wolf nodded. "She is correct. If we wish to do this, it must begin now. The longer we wait, the less impact our offer of assistance will have."

"Then perhaps we should get to work."

Everyone turned to see Falon'din standing beside the doorway, his face twisted into his best approximation of a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, apologies, was I not supposed to be in here? Am I interrupting?" His smirk pulled up further into a grimace of a smile, and he let his arms swing down to his sides as he strode further into the room, coming to stand behind Fenlamea's chair.

Fenlamea turned to smile at him. "Not at all, isa'ma'lin. You're a bit late, though. When did you arrive?"

He tapped his chin with his fingertips as he leaned on the back of her chair. "I believe it was about the time you were shouting, 'Father, mother, brothers, shut up and listen to reason!'"

She coughed gently, amusement and embarrassment mixing in her aura as she smiled at him. "Ah, well, I was more polite than that, isa'ma'lin. But it's good to know you heard my proposal, and doubly good to see you here." She turned to look at the rest of the pantheon. "So, are there any objections to that plan, or can we get to action?"

"I've no objections, asa'ma'lin, but I would help with the first part of your plan, if you will allow me," June offered, holding his hand out.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Of course, I welcome any help that furthers the plan. Thank you, asa'ma'lin."

He nodded. "Excellent. I have something that will get your messages out faster and more reliably than any raven or spell. They will arrive by tomorrow morning, regardless of distance. Come to me when you are ready, and I will send the messages out."

She grinned at him. "Perfect! I'll get them to you as quickly as possible. For now, I need to speak to my advisors and companions to inform them of the plan. If anyone has any allies to contact and bring to our side, now would be the time. We need all the help we can get."

At that, everyone stood and began filtering out of the room, some grouping up and discussing plans amongst themselves as they left, others exiting quickly to get to work. Finally, all that were left were Fenlamea and Abelas.

Fenlamea sank back into her chair with a heavy sigh, casting her gaze aside to look at him with a weary smile. "You alright there, hah'ren?"

A small huff of a laugh was his response at first, as he drew his hand down over his face and nodded. "I am fine, if a little tired, Fenlamea. I should be asking you that question."

She smiled softly, nodding as she looked back to her folded hands in her lap absently. "I am tired, but I'm used to it. It's like back when I first became Inquisitor, really. Always something to do, never enough time for sleep, unless we were out in the field. And even then, there wasn't always time for it. I'm just glad you're here, hah'ren. You've become a rock in the storm for me, and I appreciate it more than you know."

Something quiet stirred in him at her statement, something that he gave a small, sad smile at. "Well, I am glad to be a source of stability, if that be the case. It is a familiar position to be in, one I have held for a long time."

She looked back at him then, her head tilted slightly, expression curious. "You mean when you were mother's sentinel?"

He nodded. "Yes. The others often looked to me for renewal of their faith and purpose, in later years. Being their leader meant I had to provide that renewal, even when I sometimes felt lost, myself."

She lifted an eyebrow at that. "_You_ felt lost? That's... I can't even imagine you losing faith. It must have been difficult to keep it, of course; but you, of all the people that could lose faith? You are the most devoted person I've ever met. Even in your freedom, you've followed mother's instructions."

A scoff and small smile followed her shocked response. "There is not a person alive whose faith is infallible, Fenlamea. I am no exception. I _knew_ the goddess I'd chosen to serve existed, yet even so, I wavered. If you have never had your faith falter, then count yourself fortunate."

She shook her head, reaching out to grip his armored arm in comforting solidarity. "No, I'm not saying that, lethallin. There were many times, during my fight against Corypheus, when the limits of my faith were tested. I suppose I'm being unfair, expecting that you would never doubt. Ir abelas, I should not assume."

He patted her hand and smiled softly. "I understand. I am pleased that you remain grounded, despite your new station."

She chuckled, gaze drifting off to the side. "You say that like my station has changed. I was Fenlamea before." She looked back up at him with a tired smile. "I am Fenlamea now."

She squeezed his arm gently and slid her hand from beneath his, retreating. He hadn't even realized he'd left his hand atop hers, until then. He mentally shook himself. She was his charge, his pupil, his... goddess, he supposed, now. And he'd made a promise to the shem she considered a brother. He intended to keep it.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

She'd never been so simultaneously relieved and terrified to see a bed in her life. She was exhausted, and more than ready to sleep, but she was beyond worried about what she would find once she finally slept. What little training she had received from Fen'harel earlier, didn't feel like enough to prepare her. She snugged her nightgown around her tightly as she stood there, staring at the bed like it was going to eat her if she laid in it.

Before she could decide to actually do so, a knock sounded at her door. She bit her lip at how relieved that sound made her, grimacing at her cowardice as she practically flew down the stairs to answer it. She snatched the lock open and yanked the door wide, revealing her hah'ren and Fen'harel on the other side. Her surprise at seeing them both there was immediate, but she very nearly laughed when she took in their auras and expressions. Fen'harel was all concern and annoyance, whereas Abelas was protective worry. She folded her arms over her chest and smiled expectantly at them both.

"Can I help you two?"

They both tried to talk at once.

"I'm here to-"

"He decided-"

They glared at each other in agitation.

She shook her head and snickered. "One at a time, please." She loosened one arm from its crossed position to point at Abelas. "Go first."

He dipped his head in thanks. "The Wolf insisted on entering to guide you in your first actual use of his gift. I insisted on coming with, to ensure he keeps his hands to himself."

At this, Fen'harel scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Her brow lifted in amused surprise. "Is that so?" She looked to Fen'harel, then back to Abelas. "Well then, I appreciate the gesture." She stepped aside, holding the door open. "Come in."

They nodded and passed her, Abelas giving her a small apologetic smile as he followed Fen'harel up the steps. She chuckled and closed the door, locking it. She turned to see them heading for the chairs before the fire, picking them up and moving them to her bedside by the time she'd alighted the stairs. She stood with her hand on the end of the banister, a smirk on her face.

"Well, this is going to be cozy. Shall we have bedtime stories as well? Perhaps some warm milk?" She huffed a laugh and walked to her bed, which somehow seemed to have lost all of the intimidation it had possessed only moments before. She looked at each elvhen, standing beside the chairs on either side of her bed. As much as she didn't trust Fen'harel, she trusted Abelas to keep him in line. She sighed and crawled onto her bed, flipping the cover and sheet back and settling into a seated position as comfortably as she could, with two people who would not be joining her watching. Her gaze flit back and forth to each of them for a few seconds, as they still stood there awkwardly.

She snorted and let her head fall to her waiting hand, frame shaking slightly in quiet laughter. She shook her head as she looked back up, glancing and both of them before pointing to their seats.

"Sit, already! You both act like you've never sat at a bedside before!" Her eyes remained on Abelas, as he moved to comply, still fully armored. She scoffed and looked at him expectantly. He paused, uncertainty etched on his features.

"What is it?" he asked.

She tilted her head and spoke with incredulity, "You're going to sit there all night, fully armored? I mean, have at it, if that's what you prefer, it just seems... unduly uncomfortable."

He looked from her, to Fen'harel, then back to her. He seemed to deliberate for a moment, jaw working slowly, before he nodded. He stepped away to an empty armor stand and worked at the straps of the bulkier pieces of his armor, laying them on the stand one at a time. By the time he returned, he was wearing only the chest, back, and leggings of his armor, over his clothing. He spread his arms and looked at her.

"Satisfied?"

She shrugged. "If you are. I don't know why you need any armor, but that's your choice. I'm going to sleep."

She nodded to him, then to Fen'harel, and slid under the covers, pulling them up to her chin as turned to her side and closed her eyes. She heard Abelas settling into the chair behind her, and Fen'harel heaving a sigh. She heard the creak of his chair as he leaned forward.

"I will cast us both into sleep. Abelas may watch or sleep as he chooses. I will meet you in dreams, Fenlamea."

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed as he laid his hand on her head. Then, the world went black.


	10. Chapter 10

At first, Abelas tried to meditate. There was much to consider and go over, after all. With the world restored to its former magical state, it would have been easy to summon a spirit of purpose or wisdom to guide him in contemplation, and help him order his chaotic thoughts. But he soon found that he was too tired to stay awake, and the spirit he'd felt ready to volunteer simply smiled, retreating as he nodded off.

What greeted him as he woke in dreams was the very room they were seated in. Fen'harel and Fenlamea stood off to the side, deep in conversation. He stood and approached them, Fen'harel nodding, and Fenlamea smiling at him respectively, as they noticed his presence.

"Savhalla, hah'ren. I was wondering if you would be joining us," Fenlamea greeted.

Abelas smiled softly. "I found I was unable to resist the lull of slumber after so draining a day. I had wished to meditate, but it seems I will have to delay it, in favor of watching you work."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "We'll see. I can see the threads that guide me where I need to go, but following them with me may be difficult, as Fen'harel was just explaining."

Fen'harel nodded. "Yes, unfortunately we will not be able to follow her to her various destinations, which is why I was giving her instructions on how to get back quickly."

"Were you going to start the party without me?" asked a new voice, and the three of them turned to see Cunning walking up the steps into the room.

Fen'harel and Fenlamea both brightened at the sight of the spirit, but Fen'harel was the first to reply.

"Ah, Cunning, excellent. You wish to accompany your goddess, then?"

Cunning nodded. "I do. Where is Duplicity?"

"He'll be along in a moment. Do you wish us to teach you how we do it?" Fen'harel replied, tilting his head.

Cunning waved him off, shaking her head. "No, I understand the basis of it well enough."

"Well I'm so glad someone comprehends what's going on here, because I'm lost. Duplicity?" Fenlamea cut in.

Fen'harel turned to her and explained, "Duplicity is the spirit that has been my familiar for ages untold. He is the one I call upon to summon forth the Dread Wolf."

She blinked several times, aura clouded with confusion at first, then slowly clearing to understanding as she turned back to Cunning. "You want to, what? Bond with me to form another Dread Wolf?"

Cunning smiled, shrugging. "It's up to you whether it'll be dreaded, my goddess. But no, we're already bonded; it's simply a matter of learning the spell and choosing the appearance of your new spirit form."

Just as she finished, Duplicity made his entrance, manifesting next to Fen'harel and placing his hand on Fen'harel's shoulder with a smile. "I am here, my god."

Fen'harel smiled and patted Duplicity's hand. "Good. Shall we?"

Duplicity nodded, and Fen'harel looked to Fenlamea and Cunning. "Observe. We will demonstrate, until you learn it properly."

Fenlamea snorted. "Alright, go for it. This is the first I'm hearing of any of this, so it should be interesting."

Cunning smiled and placed her hand on Fenlamea's shoulder. "Worry not, my goddess. This has been done for ages beyond counting. We simply have to catch up."

Abelas came to stand on the other side of Fenlamea, watching as Fen'harel began to cast, Duplicity lending his will to the spell. A moment, and the Dread Wolf stood before them, complete with his blackened fur and red eyes. The Dread Wolf shook himself, and the form dissolved, returning Fen'harel and Duplicity to their previous stance. Fen'harel gestured to Fenlamea.

"You tasted the spell?"

She bobbed her head in confirmation. "I did, but I would like to taste it again to be certain."

Fen'harel smiled, casting again, then retreating. "And now?"

Fenlamea drew in a deep breath, nodding on the exhale. "I think I have it. We'll find out."

She tried casting, Cunning giving her strength to the spell, but it fizzled. Fenlamea huffed. "Well, that didn't work." She looked back at Cunning. "Again?"

Cunning nodded.

Fenlamea took a breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes in concentration as she began again. It almost seemed like it was working, but then it died again. Fenlamea frowned and gestured to Fen'harel with a frustrated sigh. "Something's not right. Show me again."

He shook his head this time. "It is not the spell, nor your method of casting that is lacking. Something is interfering."

"That would likely be my fault."

Everyone turned to the source of the thin, soft voice, to see Dirthamen materializing from shadow. "Apologies. I wanted to observe. I believe my magic is what's interfering. Our link from earlier today must've mixed our auras a bit more strongly than I'd anticipated." He smiled contritely to Fenlamea. "Please, try again. I am eager to see our sister's new spirit form."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "It's no trouble, isa'ma'lin. But perhaps next time, don't hide in the corner? I have no problem with you venturing into my dreams, so long as I know you're there."

Dirthamen smiled, bowing his head in acquiescence. "That is indeed a reasonable request, asa'ma'lin."

Fenlamea paused, tilting her head as she looked at Fen'harel, a quizzical expression clouding her features. "This spirit form- is this something that can be cast outside of dreams?"

Fen'harel shook his head. "No, though you can use the practice of dun'himelan to achieve a similar - if powerless - result. Cunning would not be required for that transformation, naturally."

"I could join you as a twin for that, if you like. Might be fun," Cunning supplied, smirking deviously.

Fenlamea grinned at Cunning, dipping her head softly. "I think I'd like that." She turned back to Fen'harel. "Alright, going for another attempt."

She glanced over her shoulder with a nod at Cunning, who returned the gesture readily. Fenlamea began casting once more as she faced ahead, her aura flaring with determination. The thick mist of her mana billowed from her in surging waves as she pressed the spell into existence, and this time, it did not fail.

In place of her elvhen form stood a large wolf, with a coat as pure white as freshly fallen snow, three blood red eyes shining radiantly from behind pale lids with Cunning's added power. Fenlamea looked around, blinking her eyes several times before she focused on anything in particular.

When she did, she rounded her gaze on Abelas, canting her head at him. She tried to make some sort of noise, which ended up being nothing more than a soft whuff. She shook her head, trying again, with similar results. She closed her eyes and her head sank dejectedly below her shoulders, a pained whimper sounding from her throat. She looked to Fen'harel and whined.

Fen'harel smiled sympathetically. "I believe what she means to ask, Abelas, is if you approve."

Fenlamea wagged her tail, whuffing quietly at Fen'harel in apparent agreement.

Abelas raised an eyebrow. Why would it matter to her if he did or not? "She cannot speak, to ask the question for herself?"

Fen'harel grimaced slightly. "I have not taught her the spell; one moment, I will show her."

He and Duplicity cast themselves into the shape of the Dread Wolf, and faced Fenlamea. Abelas could feel the pressure of the Dread Wolf's mana, as he willed a spell into the air, and Fenlamea's attempt at replication. A repeated performance later, and Fenlamea turned her attention back to Abelas, as Fen'harel dismissed the Dread Wolf form.

He felt her presence crawl along his mind, mingling her aura with his as her voice gently caressed his thoughts, _"Well, what do you think? I have no idea what I look like, other than very... white."_

A surprised chuckle escaped him, and he smiled down at her. "It is indeed very white, goddess. The third eye is an interesting addition; was that intentional?"

She surprised him by growling slightly, before he felt her brush against his mind again, more roughly, _"'Goddess'?! Exactly when did you decide to start calling me goddess? What happened to just using my name?"_

He hesitated, uncertain how to respond for a moment. Had the decision even been a conscious one? She _was_ a goddess now; the very fact that she was able to use the form she currently inhabited proved that much. Her question had her aura mingling curiosity, indignation, and a tinge of sadness, all surrounded by a twisting miasma of uncertainty. "Ir abelas, Fenlamea." Her aura relaxed at hearing her name usher past his lips. Curiosity still pricked at his mind. "You did not answer my question."

She looked off to the side at first, then answered as she turned back to him. _"I am not Fen'harel. I didn't want six eyes, but three still makes an impression, if a less intimidating one."_

"So you seek to be known for the third eye, but not feared?" he inquired.

A disembodied chuckle suffused his senses with its mirth. _"Something like that. It keeps them from wondering too much about whether or not I actually have the power I claim to possess, but doesn't scare them into wakefulness. Not sure I want to keep the white, though. I think that's Cunning's influence."_

"That is unfortunate."

She tilted her head at him. _"Why?"_

"The white coat suits you," he told her, honestly.

She blinked all three eyes at that, hard. _"It suits me? How so? You do recall my hair is black, yes?"_

He nodded. "I do, but your spirit form should reflect your soul, not your appearance. Your current figure achieves that goal perfectly, as it is."

She turned from him then, looking to Dirthamen. A moment later, he smiled.

"I believe he is correct, asa'ma'lin. It does indeed reflect what I know of your spirit. It is rather appropriate, not to mention pleasing to look at, as spirit forms go."

She looks to Fen'harel, who merely gives her a small smile and a nod, a confirmation of his agreement. Huffing, she turned to Abelas, looking somewhere near his feet at first, then scanning upward to his face.

"_Fine, if you all think the white's so grand, I'll keep it. I don't understand what all the fuss is about- it's just white."_

Abelas smiled softly. "White is a color of purity and peace; two things Thedas desperately needs right now, especially in its leaders. Appearing as you are will assist in promoting those ideals."

Her aura became shaded with skepticism. _"I'm promoting purity and peace... as a three-eyed wolf?"_

He shook his head, amusement playing at his lips. "Most will not remember that detail on waking, unless you wish them to. What they _will_ remember, is whatever message you give them, or scene you create for them."

"That is very true," Fen'harel interjected, waiting for Fenlamea to look at him before he continued, "they will only recall what you impress upon them to remember, upon waking. Create a strong enough message, and they will remember that, more than anything. This is what my power - now yours - is intended to do."

She huffed and shook herself, dismissing the wolf. "I imagine you're all tired of only hearing one side of the conversation," she offered in explanation, tossing slightly apologetic looks at those gathered, before focusing on Fen'harel again. "So, they could be completely ignorant that I'm even there, if I want them to be?"

Fen'harel nodded. "Yes, if that is your preference. Your spirit wolf is merely a conduit, a means to traverse dreaming minds with the most efficiency possible. You can use it in any way you desire within those dreams, or dismiss it entirely once you reach your destination; it is your choice. It is only a tool, to be used as you see fit."

She bobbed her head and glanced back at Cunning, who placed her hand on Fenlamea's shoulder, at the ready. Fenlamea cast her spell, falling into the shape of the wolf with greater ease than she had previously; obviously gaining familiarity with the spell. She looked to Dirthamen, Fen'harel, and Abelas in turn, apparently sending messages to each of them.

"_Sleep well, hah'ren. I'll be back with the dawn," _was the one he received, just before she bolted for the balcony, jumping up and vaulting off the railing, then disappearing from sight completely. Had he not witnessed the Dread Wolf perform a similar feat many times, he would have worried for her safety.

He swung his gaze back to Fen'harel, who dipped his head and vanished, waking from his slumber. Abelas watched as the shadow of Fen'harel's physical form left Fenlamea's chambers, retreating down the stairs.

"Finally," came Dirthamen's unexpected exclamation, "we can speak in private. I have something for you, Sorrow."

Abelas flicked an eyebrow up, his curiosity piqued. It was not often the Keeper of Secrets was so... direct. "Do you? What shape does this 'something' take, I wonder?"

Dirthamen smiled, chuckling softly. "You recall your new mistress declared you worthy of reward, yes?"

Abelas frowned slightly, but nodded. "I do, though you saw how she reacted when I called her a goddess. It may be best to avoid indicating she has any form of dominion over me, when she is present."

Dirthamen smirked. "I did indeed see her reaction. It was rather noble of her, considering how you view her."

Abelas' eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Exactly how is it you believe I view her?"

Dirthamen snickered, inclining his head toward Abelas. "You said it yourself, did you not? She is your goddess. In any case, I did not come here to debate in what esteem you hold your new charge. The boon I grant you for your service is a memory; one I believe you will find rather more rewarding than you expect."

Abelas' confusion only grew at that declaration. "A memory? Whose memory?"

Dirthamen beamed at him, waving him toward himself encouragingly. "Come, you shall see. I do so look forward to knowing your reaction; that will be more than payment enough, in itself."

Abelas hesitated, suspicion clawing up his spine. "Is this truly a reward, or an exchange?"

Dirthamen released the loudest of his laughs, which was still subdued, compared to nearly anyone but Abelas himself. "It is both, but only because I am curious. I will take nothing from you that I do not see or hear from outside of your mind. Worry not."

Only slightly reassured by this promise, Abelas pressed forward, waiting until Dirthamen held his hand out, to extend his own hand. He hesitated for only a moment, then lowered his fingers to brush against the god's palm.

The first thing that hit him was the adrenaline. Then, a frantic awakening of the senses; smell, sight, sound, touch. Memory of dulled reactions that are suddenly sharp, crisp, _awakened._ He realizes where he is, and knows the memory is recent, only months old. The view of the memory shifts, looking over- at himself. Then, it all clicks into place.

The sight of his aura - through what he now understands is Fenlamea's eyes - evokes emotions stronger than any he has felt in a millennia. These are _her _emotions, how she felt at first seeing _him_, after embracing the gift of the Vir'abelasan. He feels her soaking in the vision of him, with the reverence of a soul starved of sustenance, which has been given food and water for the first time in memory.

The moment seems frozen in time, her eyes taking in every detail, even down to the saddened regret etched permanently into his golden eyes. Time slowly grinds into being once again, as he feels the tear roll down her cheek. He nearly chokes on the sorrowed embarrassment she feels, watching as she quickly looks away, wiping the tear from her skin. Her voice trickles into his ears with newly unlocked perception, evoking reactions in him that became automatic recognition when he was a child, but through her ears, they are as fresh and raw as any newborn's. He hears his response, and the memory ends, now firmly embedded in his own mind, able to be recalled for as long as he can remember it.

The reality of dreams returned, stunning in the sharpness of it, after such an experience. He gasped for air, his shadow in reality mirroring him, as it was his body that lacked the air, not his spirit self. He gaped at Dirthamen, who smiled kindly back at him, eyes flitting about, reading the last remnants of his reactions to the memory.

"This is truly how she saw me, that night?" Abelas managed, once his air supply was assured.

Dirthamen dipped his head in confirmation. "It was. Quite the experience, was it not? A worthy reward, I should think. And your reaction was _very_ intriguing indeed; mother will be quite curious to hear my report." He smiled and patted Abelas on the arm. "I wish you peaceful rest, Sentinel. You will need it, to keep her alive. And that is how I want her to stay, understood?"

Abelas was nearly insulted by the insinuation that he would willingly let her die, but his pleasure at seeing - with a glance at Dirthamen's aura - that the god truly _did_ want her to live, overrode it. He bowed his head in respect. "As do I. I will do everything in my power, to see she remains so."

Dirthamen smiled. "'Ma serannas, Sorrow."

The Keeper of Secrets faded into shadow, either waking or simply concealing himself.

Abelas slowly walked over to the chair his shadowed self was seated in, settling in it as well, in preparation for waking. He needed time to meditate - _truly_ meditate, not sleep - on this new information, this boon he'd been given. He wanted to be certain of everything he saw, to replay the memory in as much clarity as he could muster.

It was no idle curiosity, or diversion that he sought to satisfy- oh, no. What he searched for was of utmost importance, both to him and to... his goddess. If he was right, if what he saw indeed rang true...

It would change _everything_.


End file.
